


Sometimes Bad Guys are All You've Got

by arbitraryallegory



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, Human Trafficking, Look if you are familiar with Oikawa you know where this is going, M/M, Modern Era, everything is implicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitraryallegory/pseuds/arbitraryallegory
Summary: “Oh, you needn’t be so coy Sakuma-san. I’ve read up on you rather thoroughly. Recruited to Interpol fresh out of the police academy, twelve years of exemplary service, millions upon millions in stolen art recovered thanks to your tireless efforts. Only to be sacked at the height of your illustrious career.”





	1. The Story

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Leverage AU I’ve been working on for 30 years lmao. I’ve tried to do some reworking on the dialogue in the beginning, but just be aware that I am aware that some of it is lifted directly from Leverage’s pilot episode. It takes a pretty deep left turn from that plot very quickly though. 
> 
> ALSO. Okay, here's the thing. If you watched Joker Game and you know Oikawa, you know he is a BAD MAN. And since I decided to use him as my villain I couldn't really ignore the worst part of his character, but I also didn't want it to be THE main plot point of the fic, so I worked it in and I tried to handle it as matter-of-factly as possible. I'm going to ask you to practice some self-care, and really decide for yourself if mentions of Human Trafficking will trigger you before you start reading. I don't go into any kind of explicit detail, but just...it is there. 
> 
> Other than that, please be advised this is unbetaed because I don't have one and though I have tried to scan for grammar and continuity errors this fucking story has been plaguing me for months and I'm straight up sick and tired of looking at it. :P

 

 

{The Royal Park Hotel

Haneda Airport, Tokyo

A Random Friday in March, 18:15}

“Sakuma-san?”

Sakuma looked up blearily at the man who had called out to him: a stranger, or at least Sakuma didn’t recognize him. Tall, dark, and handsome—in a slick, smarmy way. Sakuma immediately dismissed him, finished his drink, and signaled the bartender for another.

The man sat down on the stool next to him, and leaned in close enough for Sakuma to catch the scent of his cologne, cloying and sharp. “It is you, isn’t it? I was hoping to catch you before your flight. Forgive me for the abruptness, but…I need your help.”

Sakuma sighed. Shallowly. It really was a very obnoxious odor. “And you are?”

“Oikawa. Ah, Oikawa Masayuki.” He presented a business card with a wry grin.

Sakuma’s eyebrows shot up, but he took the card. “The CEO of Takai Aerospace?”

Oikawa’s eyelashes fluttered demurely. Creepy. “The very same. You know of me?”

“Only what’s in the news. Congratulations on your appointment.” Sakuma said, and knocked back his new drink in one go. “What do you want with me?”

 

“Oh, you needn’t be so coy Sakuma-san. I’ve read up on you rather thoroughly. Recruited to Interpol fresh out of the police academy, twelve years of exemplary service, millions upon millions in stolen art recovered thanks to your tireless efforts. Only to be sacked at the height of your illustrious career.”

The ice in Sakuma’s glass rattled and he cursed the involuntary twitch of his hand. “Excellent, you’ve proven your stalking skills are first-rate.” Especially considering the circumstances of his termination were not even remotely public knowledge. Most people in his own _division_ shouldn’t have heard about it yet. “If you could get to the _point_ Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa smiled faintly; knowingly. “Yes, of course. I’ve said I need your help, but more precisely—I have a job for you. One that will pay quite handsomely, should you accept and complete the objective.”

“What kind of job?”

Oikawa hesitated, checking their surroundings before beginning. “Do you know anything about airplane design, Sakuma-san?”

Sakuma gave him a blank look and Oikawa laughed softly. “Of course not, my apologies. I just—someone stole mine. My designs.”

“I see. And…you’d like me to find them for you?”

“Not quite. I know where they are,” Oikawa said, an ugly expression clouding over the smarm for just a moment before disappearing behind a smirk, “I want you to steal them _back_.”

Sakuma blinked. _Well, that’s new._ He opened his mouth to object outright, but his interest was piqued despite himself. “Let’s get a table,” he said finally.

When they were settled near the back of the lounge, Sakuma said quietly, “How do you know they were stolen?”

“A week ago, my head engineer disappeared with all the records and designs for the new plane. Then, a few days later Tobu Aviation announced that they were going to be unveiling an identical project. It cannot possibly be a coincidence!”

“You could alert the authorities,” Sakuma said reasonably. “Have them investigate your claim.”

“Sakuma-san, I do not have _time_. I’m supposed to present those designs to my shareholders next Monday; if I go to them empty-handed after the promises I’ve made…the money I’ve convinced them to invest in research and development since before I even became CEO—I’ll be _ruined_. It’s impossible to regain that kind of trust.”

That, Sakuma understood. He’d broken a promise of his own, and he was paying the price now. And as much as he instinctively didn’t like this man, he couldn’t help feeling a measure of sympathy.

Seeing Sakuma’s hesitation, Oikawa pounced on the chance. “Here,” he said, bending down to his briefcase and producing a thin manila folder, which he tossed onto the table in front of Sakuma. “These are the others I’ve hired, thoroughly vetted as well, of course. I think you’ll recognize them.”

Sakuma opened the folder and briefly scanned the three pages inside, heartbeat picking up speed as he read. Hatano…Tazaki…and Kaminaga? “You went to D-Agency,” he said flatly. It wasn’t even a question, since these dossiers made it perfectly clear.

Oikawa nodded. “I wanted the best. Are there any better?”

Sakuma reluctantly shook his head. There really weren’t. He’d been chasing some of their members since he was a probie—had been a founding member and leader of the D-Agency taskforce for gods’ sake—and had not succeeded even once in catching any of them. Hadn’t come close, he could grudgingly admit, if only to himself. Though neither had anyone else, which soothed his ego a bit. They were ghosts.

He took a closer look at the documents and frowned. If this was accurate, then Oikawa had more information on D-Agency than even Interpol had managed to collect in nearly a decade. “Is this all you have? What about the other members?”

Oikawa shrugged delicately. “I may. And should you agree to handle my little problem, I may be willing to part with it. Think of it as a bonus.”

Sakuma looked at him sharply. He didn’t appreciate being baited. Where there was a carrot there was also usually a stick, in his experience. “You understand that they _are_ criminals, Oikawa-san. Real criminals.”

Oikawa steepled his fingers in front of his thin, upturned lips. “Which is why I need you. I already _have_ thieves, as you can see Sakuma-san. What I need is an honest man to keep them in line.”

Sakuma leaned back. He couldn’t deny that the job was attractive for several reasons; chief among them, the chance to get an up close and personal look at how these thieves worked after years and years of being two or even three steps behind them at every turn. It was pure vanity, and he realized that. He didn’t work in law enforcement anymore, though he supposed he could still find an ear willing to listen to whatever intel he might glean. There was something about the thought that didn’t sit right with him, though. Perhaps it was pride, or even a touch of possessiveness. They were _his_ thieves, or at least he’d come to think of them as such. Catching them this way, if they could be caught, just didn’t seem fair.

“It’ll never work,” Sakuma said, almost regretfully. “D-Agency doesn’t work with outsiders. Ever. Let alone the former Interpol agent who’s chased them for years.”

“For thirty-million yen each, they will,” Oikawa said with a smirk. Casually, he added, “Of course your share is double that.”

Sakuma sucked in a breath. He wasn’t normally taken by avarice but that—that was a _lot_ of money. With that much he could afford to take some time to figure out what he was going to do next.

“So, Sakuma-san? Are you in?”

He already knew he was going to regret this. “I’m in. _If_ you answer one question.”

“And what question is that?”

“Why me?”

“I already said, didn’t I? You’re an honest man. Maybe the only one left on this entire godforsaken planet. You came highly recommended.”

“By _who_?”

“Ah ah ah, I believe you said one question Sakuma-san, and I answered it. I’ll forward you further details about the…project.” Oikawa stood up and dropped a handful of notes on the table. “That should reimburse you for your missed flight, as well as cover your tab here. I look forward to working with you.”

 

{Tobu Aviation

Yokohama

The Following Thursday, 01:55}

“Oi, someone tell the bear to stop breathing so loud,” a petulant voice said, and Sakuma had to fight the urge to swat at the air around his ear. It felt like their voices were _in his head_ , and it was far too intimate. He much preferred the comfortable inferiority of the headset that lay abandoned on the table.

“I _can_ hear you,” Sakuma ground out.

“Tell him to stop eavesdropping too. Why is he even here?” It was the same voice, bored and bratty and infinitely infuriating.

“Hatano,” a second voice said warningly. Kaminaga, he thought.

“Sorry,” Hatano said without a trace of sincerity. Gods help them all.

Sakuma grumbled under his breath for a few moments as he adjusted the video feeds and building schematics on his beat-up, but perfectly functional laptop.

Tazaki, their hacker, had looked sad when he laid eyes on it.

Speaking of Tazaki: “These are bone conduction earpiece mics.” He was obviously amused, though he sounded as calm as he had during their brief meeting a few moments before. “They work from vibrations in your jaw, so we can hear everything…even something said under your breath.”

Sakuma flushed. “Noted,” he said shortly. “Clear the comms.”

“Damn,” Hatano chimed in, sounding impressed. “I didn’t know the bear had it in him, what with that stick up his—”

“ _Clear the comms_!” Sakuma snarled.

“Roger,” two voices rang out simultaneously while Hatano snickered, then the frequency went silent for several long, heart-pounding moments. He’d never learned to get used to the thrill of infiltration.

“We’re on the roof,” Kaminaga said finally, a bit winded.

“You remember the plan?”

“We _are_ professionals, Sakuma-san.”

 _“_ Professional thieves,” Sakuma retorted.

“Nevertheless,” Tazaki said lightly. “We are very very good at what we do.”

Sakuma rubbed his face and told himself that there was no merit in getting into an argument with them. “Look, I just want to complete the job as smoothly as—”

“Is the bear sitting pretty in the building across the street trying to tell us how to do our jobs? Is he, Kaminaga?”

Sakuma took a deep breath and counted backwards from ten. In Russian. _This is what I get for trying to help someone._ “Just wait for my mark.” He began the count.

Hatano hummed with pleasure, ignoring him still. “I haven’t used this rig since Paris, summer of 2013. Hello old friend.”

It took a moment for the dots to connect, and when they did Sakuma sputtered in outrage, interrupting the count. “ _You stole that Manet_! You were _fifteen!_ ”

Hatano laughed gleefully, followed by a great whooshing sound.

Sakuma closed his eyes. “He already jumped.”

“Affirmative,” Tazaki murmured. “We’re heading down to the elevator.”

There was a faintly surprised hum a moment later. “What is it, Hatano?”

“Tell the bear—”

Okay, that was enough. “You know, for someone who claims to be a professional, you’re acting an awful lot like a spoiled child,” Sakuma drawled. “You don’t like me and you don’t want to work with me—fine. I can assure you both feelings are entirely mutual. Put it aside so we can get this _done_ , and we never have to see or speak to each other again.”

There was dead silence for the space of a few heartbeats. Then Kaminaga said in his sly drawl, “You got scolded by a _cop_. Just _wait_ until Yuuki-san hears about this!”

“Shut up!” Hatano snarled. Then he took an audibly deep breath and when he spoke again his tone was sulky, but it lacked the resentful mockery that had saturated it thus-far. “There are active vibration detectors. Cutting is more precise, but—”

“Use the binary,” Sakuma ordered.

“I was _going to_.”

Several tense moments later, Hatano whispered, “I’m in.”

“Good, that’s good. Tazaki, Kaminaga are you in position?”

“We have been,” Kaminaga said, bored. “Hatano, what’s the ETA on—whoa!”

“We’re moving,” Tazaki affirmed as Kaminaga swore.

They really did work efficiently, Sakuma mused. If they’d only chosen to channel their talents in acceptable, or even just _legal_ ways, they could have been—

No. He shouldn’t think that way. Such flights of fancy were useless distractions. They were criminals, end of story.

“We’re in the server room, Sakuma-san,” Tazaki said some minutes later. “Give me just a—ah, there they are. I have the designs,”

“Already?” Sakuma asked, startled.

Sakuma could hear the smugness as he explained, “All their security was concentrated on the outside, apparently. Once you’re in, it’s pathetically easy to hack the intranet.”

“All the files and copies are deleted?”

“Of course. Dropping the spike now.”

“A virus?” Sakuma asked. That hadn’t been part of the plan, but he couldn’t say he entirely disapproved.

“Oh _several_ ,” Tazaki affirmed.

“Uh-oh.”

That was bad. Uh-ohs were very, very bad in this type of situation.

“What is it, Hatano?”

“The spike set off some latent protocol in the security system. All the alarms have been reset. We can’t go up or down without triggering them.”

Tazaki cursed. “I should have thought of that. Give me a minute.”

“Wait! Don’t panic. And don’t do anything that might leave a footprint in their systems.”

“Who’s panicking?” Kaminaga and Hatano grumbled simultaneously, causing a brief squabble about who copied who.

“Gentlemen. I know you’re used to your high-tech toys, but how about something a little more analog this time?” Sakuma said over them, considering the footage of the guards loitering in the building lobby.

“I’m listening,” Tazaki said. “What’s the plan?”

Sakuma smirked. It felt both weird and comfortable on his face. “You’re going to walk out the front door.”

Thirty minutes later they had all made it safely away from Tobu Aviation and were ensconced in a small 24/7 internet café.

The sight of Hatano hobbling out of the building on crutches, wearing a neck brace and cast, with an ugly make-up shiner—in addition to a blond wig, a skirt, and black stockings—was an image that Sakuma would treasure for the rest of his life; one that would certainly keep him warm with vengeful humor on many cold nights for years to come. Sakuma had zero qualms, since the brat was going to be a cheeky little shit to the very end, apparently.

“Wow, Bear-san,” Hatano said, eyes too wide and voice too awed to be anything other than facetious as he propped his chin on his hands. His lips were still pink and shiny from the gloss and his eyes were quite striking rimmed in kohl…even with the bruise. “You make a pretty good thief. For a cop.”

Sakuma rubbed his forehead. “For the last time, I’m not a cop. I worked for _Interpol_. And I’m not a thief, either.”

“You kind of are,” Kaminaga interjected. “I mean, stealing is stealing right? And don’t even try for the moral high-ground—we know you’re getting paid, too.”

“What, did you finally get tired of playing the white knight?” Hatano asked, seeming genuinely curious.

Sakuma was developing a tic above his left eye, he just knew it. “I was fired,” he said succinctly.

Kaminaga whistled. “ _Really_?” Hatano said, eyes lighting up. “ _You_ were fired? What’d you _do_?”

Tazaki, who had wisely ignored them all up to then, said, “The designs have been sent.”

“Fantastic,” Hatano chirped, hopping down from the table, and Sakuma breathed a sigh of relief at the distraction.

“The money should be in your accounts as soon as Oikawa confirms receipt. While it’s been a…ah, an _adventure_ , I honestly hope I never see any of you ever again,” Sakuma said from behind bared teeth.

“Aw, admit it Bear-san. You had fun!”

Sakuma would do no such thing; not to them and certainly not to himself.

Outside, the three D-Agency thieves turned to the left, while Sakuma went right. This had been one deeply weird, deeply morally questionable night. He was glad it was all over.

He was.

 

{The Royal Park Hotel

Room 318

Same Thursday, 15:00}

When his mobile phone began to ring, Sakuma ignored it. When it rang again twenty seconds after cutting off, he cracked one eye open to glare at it. The third time, fumbled for it and croaked, “What?” into the mouthpiece.

And immediately had to take it away from his ear when shrill shouting threatened to pierce right through his skull.

“Oikawa-san?” he ventured when the other person had to finally pause to draw breath.

“You’re going to regret double crossing me,” Oikawa hissed and Sakuma’s head thanked him for finally lowering the decibel. “Where the hell are my designs?”

“What are you talking about?” Sakuma sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I watched the files go out.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw.” Oikawa was still hissing and Sakuma decided that was just as unpleasant after all, despite the lower key. He felt sorry for Oikawa’s phone, with the amount of spittle that must be gooping it up. “They never got here.”

 _Of course they didn’t_ , Sakuma thought wearily. “They’re thieves,” he said helplessly. “What did you expect?”

“I expected _you_ to keep them on a leash! That was _your_ job. No designs, no payment, Sakuma-san. None of you get paid until I get my designs.”

Sakuma sat up straighter in alarm. This was bad. He did _not_ want to be in the crosshairs of D-Agency, and whether he knew it or not, neither did Oikawa “Oikawa-san, please calm down. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Let me come over and--”

“No no no, you musn’t come here. I can’t be seen with any suspicious characters. No, I have a warehouse in Yokohama, on the waterfront. I’ll text you the address. Meet me there in two hours.” The line went dead.

 _Suspicious character? Me? Well, I suppose I am that now_ , Sakuma pondered as he fell face-first into his pillow. He only allowed a few moments to indulge in self-pity, before dragging himself up and into the shower.

He used his rental to drive to the address Oikawa texted him. The warehouse was in a crumbling district of the waterfront, abandoned but for a few vagrants. In a few years everything would be demolished to make way for new facilities, but for now it was merely a deserted memorial to a more prosperous past.

Sakuma stepped into the building reluctantly, already getting a cold feeling of dread in his stomach. He checked to make sure his highly illegal firearm was out of sight in its side holster. If Oikawa thought to have him ambushed, they wouldn’t find him such an easy target.

He heard voices deeper inside, and as he made his way around old equipment as silently as possible, the words became clearer.

“I’m just saying,” Hatano was saying, “we should go kick Oikawa’s ass for messing with us, and then go kick that bear-cop’s ass for good measure!”

‘Bear-cop?’ Sakuma mouthed to himself, shaking his head.

“We’re not thugs, Hatano,” Tazaki said.

“Speak for yourself,” Kaminaga huffed. “I’m totally a thug. And I’m with Hatano.”

“I can’t believe that bear double-crossed us. I mean, he had to’ve, right? How else wouldn’t the pig have got his damn designs?”

“You’re giving an awful lot of credit to a guy you won’t stop treating like a vaguely entertaining carnival side-show,” Sakuma said wryly, and had the absolute delight of witnessing Hatano jump about a foot in the air.

“Sakuma-san,” Tazaki nodded his way. He had a deck of cards in his hands which he seemed to be idly shuffling in complicated patterns. Kaminaga, meanwhile, had doubled over in laughter while Hatano fumed, visibly pink even in the dimness of the warehouse. “We seem to be having a bit of trouble with our agreed-upon salary. Was this a set up from the beginning?”

Suddenly, Kaminaga and Hatano were both quiet and alert. Sakuma sighed, rubbing his head in a futile attempt to stave off a headache. It was a worthless habit he’d never been able to break. “No. If there was a set-up, I wasn’t a part of it.”

He waited patiently to see if they believed him.

Hatano looked away after a moment. “So it’s the Pig-bastard after all.”

Sakuma relaxed when the others looked away as well. “Are all of you here to get paid, then?”

“Hell no, we don’t take checks. We bugged—oof! Oi, _bastard_!” Hatano shouted as Kaminaga stomped on his foot.

“We simply wanted a word with Oikawa-san regarding his…dissatisfaction with our work,” Tazaki said diplomatically. He hesitated, then asked curiously, “You don’t think we faked sending the designs?”

“If you had, you wouldn’t be here,” Sakuma answered distractedly. He’d gotten a whiff of something—gasoline?

“Where is the pig anyway?” Hatano asked, looking around as though Oikawa might materialize out of thin air.

“He’s not coming,” Sakuma said grimly, as the smell grew stronger along with the bad feeling. “This was a trap, obviously. Wait you said—who did you bug? Me or Oikawa?”

The three criminals exchanged a look between them.

“Fucking hell—I’m not Interpol anymore. I couldn’t do anything to you even if I wanted to. Please answer the question!”

“Oikawa,” Kaminaga finally said, seeming to be catching on, if the dark look on his face was anything to go by. “In his office, before we did the job.”

“It was easy to figure out what warehouse belonged to him,” Tazaki shrugged.

Sakuma turned on his heel. “We need to get out of here. _Now._ ”

“What are you—”

“He found the bug. He knew you’d take offense and come to confront him. This was just a way to get all of us in the same place at the same time.”

Sakuma ran for the exit, checking to make sure the other three were on his heels. He was right, though he’d never been so unhappy for it. They’d barely cleared the structure when there was a deafening roar behind them, and Sakuma covered his head and dove for the ground to avoid the worst of the shrapnel from the explosion.

When the heat and pressure let up a few moments later, he carefully stood and turned to stare at the burning orange husk of the warehouse.

If he’d been even a few seconds slower on the uptake…

He whipped his head around, searching his companions out one by one. Finding them looking a little worse for the wear, but thankfully alive and conscious, Sakuma slumped back.

“I can’t believe he tried to blow us up,” Kaminaga said, sounding almost _impressed_. Who _were_ these people?

“Yeah, and more importantly, he didn’t pay us,” Hatano grumbled.

“How is that more important?” Sakuma sputtered. What the hell was wrong with this kid? How did someone who ought to be in a cram school somewhere get into this line of work in the first place?

“Hatano has his own special set of priorities,” Tazaki explained, sounding _fond_ , of all things, and _you know what, I give up_. Sakuma shook his head to banish his consternation, and tried to focus on the problem at hand.

Someone had just tried to send them to a fiery grave and, fucked priorities of his company notwithstanding, that was not even in the _vicinity_ of okay. Sakuma wanted to know why.

His ears were still ringing a bit, but he could make out sirens in the distance, growing closer as he listened. They had three, maybe four minutes to get out of there.

“We need to go,” Tazaki said, voicing Sakuma’s thoughts. “I’ve texted you an address. If you want to resolve this with us, meet us there.”

Sakuma didn’t bother asking how they’d gotten his cell number, and instead said, “This was supposed to be a one-time job.” He didn’t know why he said it…except to just say it. Reinforce it. He wasn’t like these people. He wasn’t a hardened criminal—hell, he wasn’t a hardened anything, as the circumstances of his termination had proven, he thought bitterly.

“Then go back to your hotel room and stick your head in the sand,” Hatano snapped. There was a deep cut just above his eyebrow, trickling blood down into his eye. He swiped at it absently as he stared Sakuma down with utter contempt. “Who needs a shitty cop like you anyway? Maybe Oikawa will do us all a favor and—”

“Hatano!” Kaminaga said sharply, no trace of the playfulness that usually accompanied their interactions. Hatano kicked at the ground viciously, but subsided.

Sakuma looked toward the sky for patience. God save him from spoilt brats of all ages _._ Sighing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the neatly folded square of his handkerchief and slapped it against Hatano’s forehead, who automatically raised his own hand to hold the cloth in place. “Get out of here,” he ordered, before turning toward his own car.

 

{Club Youko

Roppongi, Minato

19:52}

Sakuma took a deep breath as he looked up at the neon sign blinking green blue and pink. It was funny, the way life worked out sometimes: he’d spent nearly his entire adult life trying to catch criminals, and now that he was no longer in the business of doing so, he’d received his very own personal invitation to the lair of the Demon Lord Yuuki himself.

Interpol, as well as various law enforcement agencies, had had their eyes on Club Youko for years, but Yuuki ran a squeaky clean business. Admirably so. All taxes were paid on time and in full, all employee records and wages were in order, supply lines recorded and verified, and licenses dutifully rubber stamped and renewed through the proper channels. Everything was completely above board.

Except that everyone _knew_ Yuuki was one of the most prolific thieves and forgers Japan had ever seen, with a career that spanned several decades and hundreds of millions—if not billions—in art and other collectibles. They just couldn’t prove it. And now he’d assembled an entire team of criminals with varying complementary talents. They called themselves ‘D-Agency’ and they’d accept any job if the pay was high enough—or so the rumor went. Sakuma had his doubts about that. By all accounts, Yuuki had been a picky bastard when he was active, and Sakuma couldn’t imagine his disability and forced-retirement had changed him much. Interpol didn’t know exactly how many members there were; their analysts’ best estimates ranged from as few as five to as many as twenty. The one thing they did know was that every single one of the members was just as clever and just as resourceful as Yuuki himself. And just as untouchable, if their alleged track-records were anything to go by.

What exactly did he think he was going to accomplish by coming here? He didn’t know, but he felt duty bound to at least hear them out.

“Can I help you?” a friendly looking man asked, startling Sakuma out of his thoughts. With his track suit, headband, and leash loosely grasped in his hand, he looked every inch a normal young man, out for a leisurely run with his little dog. He wouldn’t warrant a second glance from an average citizen for anything but his striking good looks.

Sakuma, however, was not an average citizen. He recognized the man as Amari, who had—in one night—stolen three million euros’ worth of jewelry from the attendees of a charity fundraiser in Luxembourg. It had been one of those ridiculously extravagant affairs that rich people threw to pat themselves on the back and attract positive publicity. The fact that a few weeks later the exact estimated worth of the stolen items, down to the last cent, had been anonymously donated to the very same charity had both frustrated and amused Sakuma’s entire division.

“Are you my escort?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

Apparently deciding not to play coy, Amari grinned widely, and Sakuma could almost see how he charmed so many people, men and women alike, so thoroughly that they didn’t even seem that angry when he separated them from their valuables. “I’m just walking my dog, Sakuma-san, honest! I’m surprised to see you, actually. I guess Hatano won the pot after all.”

“Pot?”

“He’s the only one who bet you’d show up today. The rest of us said it’d be another day or not at all.”

Sakuma choked. “Well. That’s…”

Amari snickered. “Shocking? Not really. Once Hatano decides he likes someone, it’s hard to budge him. He’s pretty simple once you get to know him. Shall we?”

Sakuma bit back his urge to pitch a fit about…nearly everything Amari had just said. There was no sense in alienating him by bluntly calling his sanity into question. Therefore, he merely nodded, and motioned for Amari to lead the way.

Amari clicked his tongue and the dog perked up and walked with him into a narrow alley alongside the club. Toward the back there was an entrance with a keypad. Amari entered his code, then leaned down, and Sakuma raised his eyebrows when a red beam appeared—a retinal scanner.

“Fancy security,” he commented.

“The best!” Amari agreed. The door audibly unlocked and Amari pushed it open. Just inside there were two staircases, one leading up and one leading down; Amari took the one going up and Sakuma followed him. Four flights up, there was another keypad entry with a scanner, then down a maze of corridors, up another two flights, another maze, and down a flight, and yet another keypad/scanner. Sakuma’s incredulity increased exponentially as they went—he understood the need for security, but was _this_ level really necessary?

“I took you the long way,” Amari explained apologetically. “Our security expert insists. But we are here now.”

True to his word, when the door opened they heard Kaminaga saying, “—say we send him a thousand—no _ten_ thousand porno magazines, I’m talking _hardcore_ —”

“How vulgar,” someone interrupted.

“Of course it’s vulgar, that’s the _point_ Fuku-chan! Anway—right to his office, where all his VIP stockholders can see.”

The space was wide open, with a kitchen and bar taking up most of it. The rest appeared to be a den or living area with several sofas and chairs arrayed around a massive television. Sitting or reclining in various positions on the furniture were four men, seemingly talking over one another.

“I still don’t see why I can’t just go to his house,” Hatano whined up at the boy tending the cut on his forehead. He looked close to Hatano’s age; too young. “All I need is a baseball bat and—”

“No killing. _Or_ maiming. Sit _still_.” His voice was a bit jarring, both deeper and softer than Sakuma expected from his appearance. He might have appeared young, but the gaze he turned on Sakuma was most assuredly not that of a child. This was a man, however young he appeared.

“Bear-san, what took you so—ow!” Hatano jerked away from the other man, where he was apparently trying to stitch up the cut above Hatano’s eyebrow. “Dammit, Jitsui, will you stop fussing? I’m _fine_.”

Ah, so this was Hatano’s partner. He was…not what Sakuma had expected, though he hadn’t had anything particular in mind. For the past two years, they’d developed the distressing habit of ‘signing’ their work with cutting taunts and raunchy drawings directed toward the police graffitied in place of their targets. The Louvre was actually thinking about turning them into an exhibit all their own. ‘Modern art’ someone at the museum had fawned as Sakuma looked on in disgust the last time he was there.

“Sorry,” Jitsui said, not sounding sorry at all. “But if you don’t sit still, I’ll have to punish you.”

He said it patiently—even pleasantly—but Hatano went absolutely motionless so immediately it was almost comical. Jitsui finished his work a moment later, and tilted Hatano’s face this way and that by his chin, inspecting his work critically. Apparently satisfied, he let go and peeled off his rubber gloves. Raising his eyes to meet Sakuma’s, he carded his fingers deliberately through Hatano’s hair and said, softly, “Good boy.”

Ah, so they were not only partners; they were also _partners_.

From his chair, Kaminaga suddenly succumbed to a coughing fit, and even Sakuma had to suppress a smile, though it wasn’t that difficult with Jitsui’s somewhat unsettling stare focused on him. “He’s been talking about you non-stop since this afternoon,” Amari whispered. “And Jitsui’s a bit possessive where Hatano’s concerned.”

“I…see.” For now, he decided to ignore it and addressed Hatano directly. “Is your head alright?”

Hatano pulled Jitsui’s hand from his hair absently, and tugged him down to sit beside him. He didn’t let the hand go once Jitsui was seated, and this seemed to mollify him, which Sakuma was grateful for. Hatano grinned. “Something like this is nothing,” he said, brushing the neatly stitched cut. “I think your handkerchief is done for, though.” He held up the bloodied cloth and Sakuma winced.

“Just throw it away. I have others.”

Hatano shrugged and stuck it in his pocket. Sakuma almost lectured him on how unsanitary that was, but snapped his mouth closed. They weren’t friends, or anything close; he had no business trying to scold him.

“I came here because the four of us have unfinished business with Oikawa.”

“It’s not four. It’s eight,” Amari said seriously.

“’All for one and one for all’?” Sakuma quoted, amused. That was unexpectedly decent of them.

“What’s wrong with that? Oh, that reminds me, though,” Hatano said brightly, clapping his hands together. “Pay up!”

Groans echoed through the room. Sakuma took advantage of the momentary distraction to take a headcount. Other than himself, Hatano, Jitsui, Amari, Kaminaga, and Tazaki, there was one other; a tall, dark haired man with a placid face who must have been the ‘Fuku-chan’ Kaminaga had been speaking to before he’d come through the door—likely Fukumoto. At some point he had moved from the sitting area to the kitchen and appeared to be…cooking. And seemed quite content doing so. It was not an image that was easy to reconcile. Fukumoto was an accomplished grifter, and Sakuma had witnessed several of his characters himself: the rich, spoiled playboy; the smarmy reporter; the conceited museum curator. None of them acted at all like this unassuming fellow, dicing vegetables and adding them to a pot of boiling water.

It was like he was in some sort of fever dream. Anyway, that made seven, so who was the eighth?

“Where’s Odagiri?” Tazaki asked on cue. His cell phone chimed and he picked it up. “Ah, he says he’s in the security room. He’ll listen from there.”

Hatano pointed up above his shoulder. “Wave at Odagiri, Bear-san.” There was a camera mounted near the ceiling, and Sakuma reluctantly raised his hand in greeting. “He’s shy,” Hatano said behind his hand in a stage whisper.

A second later he jumped, and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. Jitsui leaned forward to see the message and snickered, while Hatano blushed and shoved it back into his pocket. He flipped off the camera and sat back with a huff.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Kaminaga said. “We were just discussing how we should retaliate against the murderous pig.”

“I heard,” Sakuma said, dry as dust.

“It’s actually worse than we thought,” Tazaki said, looking up from the laptop he’d been busily working on to aim a remote at the ridiculously huge television. He was scowling, a departure from his usual bland affability. “Watch this.”

On the screen a man was talking; the ticker tape at the bottom identified him as the CEO of Tobu Aviation, Miyata Nobuteru. “We’ve lost research that we’ve been working on for years. Our servers have been sabotaged with little hope of recovering the thousands of hours of lost work. We are cooperating fully with law enforcement to bring the perpetrators to justice, and will use all of our considerable resources to make that happen. They won’t get away with this. We ask that if anyone has any information about these crimes to contact us at—”

Tazaki paused the video and everyone sat there in silence.

“It…could be a cover story,” Kaminaga ventured lamely.

“Unlikely,” Fukumoto called. He dropped something into the pot and stirred. “I detected no deception markers in his speech or body language.”

Tazaki scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking rather blurry-eyed. “There’s something else. I’ve been looking at the coding in the designs—”

“You were supposed to destroy them,” Sakuma blurted out. His teeth clicked together and his face went hot under the scathing stare Tazaki aimed at him.

“As I was saying: Some of the proprietary markers in these encryption codes date back over five years. There’d be no reason to fake that so deeply, and I’m not sure they even could—you’d only know it was there if you were specifically looking for it, which I was. I’m certain these are original Tobu designs.”

“So we weren’t stealing back the designs, we were just stealing them,” Kaminaga clarified. Tazaki nodded. “Uh, I don’t get the subterfuge? We’re _thieves for hire_. It’s not like we’d judge.”

“It wasn’t for your benefit,” Sakuma said grimly. “It was for mine. I’m the one who wouldn’t have been in if I’d known this was just a simple robbery.” It had been a rather masterful con, all things considered. Sakuma had bought the tale of woe hook, line, and sinker; had never seen the double cross coming. If they’d actually died, as planned, Oikawa probably would have gotten away with everything.

But they hadn’t died, had they?

“So we drop the police an anonymous hint,” Hatano said, shrugging. “And then in a few months, I sneak into his house and kick his ass.”

“Then it becomes Tobu’s word against Takai’s and there’s no proof to back Tobu up,” Sakuma pointed out. “Even if we give them back the designs, that doesn’t change. They’ll lose millions in plummeting stock, investigations, lawsuits…this could break them.” For a relatively young company like Tobu, who was just now reaching a point to begin evening out the monopoly Takai had had on the Japanese aerospace industry for the last decade, this would be devastating, if not catastrophic.

He’d been doing his homework. Like he should have done before he got into this mess. How could he have been so stupid and naïve?

“So what?” Hatano shrugged like it wasn’t any concern of his.

“So _we did this_. It was our foolish mistake. It’s only fair we fix it ourselves.”

Hatano did a double take. “Are you for real? Didn’t anyone ever tell you life’s not fair?”

“No one ever had to tell me that,” Sakuma said quietly, but with steel behind it. “What’s so absurd about wanting to even the odds a little when you can?”

“You _really_ mean that, don’t you?” Hatano actually laughed at him and, ridiculously, that _stung_. More so, it saddened him. How had someone so young become so cynical? A look around the room revealed Hatano wasn’t the only one amused by him, though the rest hid it better.

“What do you have in mind, Sakuma-san?” Fukumoto asked, a transparent ploy to divert the conversation. Sakuma shook off his disappointment before answering. He didn’t know why he should be so stricken in the first place. They were unrepentant criminals—of course they didn’t have any concept of justice or common decency.

Sakuma began to pace, thinking out loud as he’d done countless times in front of bullpens throughout the world. “We need to steal the designs back, of course. But that’s not enough. With the explosion, Oikawa’s somewhat shown his hand. We know how far he’ll go to protect his interests, which might be useful for a trap. Then again, if he was willing to go so far as to kill us, then he’d have no problem doing the same type of thing to others. I don’t want to see him hurt people who won’t be able to fight back.” _Like we can,_ being the unspoken addendum. “He’s dangerous, and he has the deep pockets and power to follow through. Only total annihilation will neutralize him.”

“We’re not that kind of criminal, Sakuma-san,” Amari said quietly.

“Don’t die, don’t kill,” Kaminaga added. “Our motto.”

Sakuma shot them both an annoyed look. Who did they think they were talking to? “I’m talking about his _reputation_. If we can ruin his image, everything else will follow it down the drain. He said as much at our first meeting.”

“You’re talking about running a game on him,” Jitsui observed neutrally.

“ _You_?” Hatano exclaimed, looking between Jitsui and Sakuma, seeming almost appalled.

“Give him enough rope to hang himself. Ah, figuratively of course,” Sakuma hesitated. Then he stood straighter and met their eyes, one by one. His dignity might be in tatters, but he still had pride in the work he’d done. “I was never able to catch any of you, but I was never very far behind either. I recovered most of the merchandise you stole, and I did that by coordinating local undercover operations.”

“Wow, Agent Sakuma running cons, I can’t even picture it,” Amari said, with an amazed laugh.

“He’s not bad,” Hatano said casually. “He kept up well enough, I guess.”

“There’s just one problem,” Sakuma said, ignoring the faint praise. “He knows you. He had photographs of you three,” he nodded at Kaminaga, Hatano, and Tazaki. “And he implied he had even more information, on other members. We have no way of knowing who he would know by sight.”

“You must know how good we are with disguises,” Fukumoto said. Whatever he was making smelled heavenly. “It’s nearly time to eat. Will you have dinner with us Sakuma-san?”

Sakuma shook his head, at both the comment and the question. “No thank you. And I don’t want to risk it. It can’t be any of us.” But an idea was beginning to form. Oikawa had the advantage just then, simply because they didn’t know how much information he actually had. But there _was_ someone he couldn’t possibly know about.

He looked at his watch. If he left immediately, he could _just_ make it for the third act of the show. He spun around and walked toward the door.

“Oi, where are you going?” Hatano called.

Sakuma allowed himself a small smirk. “To get Miyoshi.” The smirk stayed in place as he felt their stares on his back.

As he walked down the corridor, he wasn’t at all surprised to hear the door open behind him, and several sets of footsteps hurrying to catch up.

“Wait up, Sakuma-san!” Tazaki called.

“Odagiri wants to know what a ‘miyoshi’ is,” Kaminaga said.

“You’ll see,” Sakuma said. His smirk was trying to morph into an all-out grin.

“Oi, Bear-san, do you even know where you’re going?”

Sakuma stopped. “Er, no?”

Hatano sighed and took the lead.

Sakuma frowned as he counted a couple more heads than he’d expected. “I’m curious,” Amari said, flashing a grin.

“And Jitsui’s _jealous_ ,” Hatano taunted, and jerked when Jitsui did something so quick it was invisible, rubbing his hip and pouting.

“Curious, too,” Jitsui said calmly.

“You won’t be disappointed,” Sakuma promised.

 

{Kaiteki Amateur Theater

Shinjuku Ni-chome

22:01}

 

_“Indeed, la, without an oath, I’ll make an end on’t! [Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity, Alack, and fie for shame! Young men will do’t if they come to’t By Cock, they are to blame. Quoth she, ‘Before you tumbled me, You promis’d me to wed.’ He answers: 'So would I 'a’ done, by yonder sun, An thou hadst not come to my bed.’*_

Sakuma settled comfortably in his seat near the back of the small, dilapidated theater, absolutely riveted to the stage and unable to help the grin splitting his face in two. He wished he had popcorn, honestly. The horror on the faces of his company was giving him the most exquisite satisfaction.

“That’s Miyoshi?” Kaminaga asked, strangled. Beside him, Amari looked like he was in agony, peeking through his fingers and sinking lower and lower in his seat. Tazaki had long put his earbuds in and refused to share one with Amari, even when he’d begged.

In addition to the overwrought gesticulations, overly-dramatic speech, and frequent long pauses to remember a line; Miyoshi couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. He sounded like a yowling cat. It was the most spectacular thing Sakuma had ever seen, and he was enjoying himself immensely.

Jitsui, on the other hand, had killing intent fairly oozing off of him, with his hands over his ears and his gaze focused somewhere in the middle distance. Hatano simply stared at the stage, transfixed. “Is there something wrong with him?” he hissed, twirling circles at his temple with his index finger meaningfully.

“This guy is the worst actor I’ve ever seen,” Amari moaned. “And I go to elementary school productions.”

Sakuma wasn’t going to touch that one. “This isn’t Miyoshi’s stage,” was all he said. “Shh, it’s Ophelia’s last scene.”

_“[singing] And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy deathbed; He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, All flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan. God 'a'mercy on his soul! And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b’ wi’ you.”*_

‘Ophelia’ exited stage right, and Sakuma stood. He knew this was going to cost him, yet that did nothing to quell the thrill of excitement. The highest risks often had the sweetest rewards.

“You know there’s still, like, a whole act left in the play, right?” Amari asked. “Won’t he stay to the end?”

Sakuma shook his head. “Not Miyoshi. He doesn’t care about roles other than his own.”

“A narcissist?” Jitsui asked.

“Very likely,” Sakuma agreed. “We should go greet him now, or we’ll miss him.”

The theater was nearly empty in the first place—such a late show wouldn’t have garnered much attention even if it was good, and this amateur spectacle was decidedly not. They walked down the aisle single-file as the play continued its agonizing ascent to climax.

Once they made it out into the cool night air, Sakuma led the party around to the employee exit to wait. No one said anything but each of them looked more thoughtful than they had before. Perhaps they were questioning his judgment (or sanity) and wondering what that meant for their schemes.

Good. He liked that he could keep them guessing. He had far too few advantages with these people to begin with; if their perpetual underestimation had to be one of them, so be it. They wouldn’t understand, but he had no guarantee he would be any better off, even if this lark panned out.

Miyoshi was a wild card, in the truest sense of the term. Interpol had an entire team of statisticians dedicated to forecasting what he would do, and they were only right forty percent of the time. Logic couldn’t predict him. Reason had no sway.

Sakuma leaned up against the wall and reached into the inner pocket of his coat for his cigarettes. He’d been quit for a while now, but the day’s events had prompted him to pick up a pack from a convenience store.

Hatano snatched the stick from his mouth before he could light it, and crushed it in his fist, dropping the wad of tobacco and paper to the ground with a look of disgust. He glared at Sakuma, as if daring him to try again.

It wasn’t worth arguing, so Sakuma tilted his head back against the wall with a sigh, and closed his eyes. This had been one _motherfucker_ of a long day.

“I’m against this,” Amari said quietly, breaking the silence. A group of people passed by the mouth of the alley, paying no attention to them.

“Me too,” Kaminaga said. “Taking our chances with just us would be better than _that_.”

Sakuma rolled his head to the side and cracked one eye open. “We need a fresh face. Oikawa might not know who some of you are, but we have no way of knowing how much he _does_ know, do you disagree?”

“No, but—”

The door finally opened and Sakuma straightened, squinting into the darkness. The person was rummaging in a messenger bag as they took a few distracted steps toward the mouth of the alley, pausing as they entered a dim circle of light from a fixture high above. Sakuma smiled as Miyoshi slid a pair of trendy frameless glasses onto his face.

He stepped forward, clapping, and said, “You were great, as always.”

Miyoshi blinked up at him. Sakuma saw his eyes widen for just a second, before his lips curved up in a smile that was just as fond as Sakuma knew his own was. “If it isn’t my only fan. You’ve grown your hair out. It suits you.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” It was true. Miyoshi wore street clothes exactly as elegantly as he wore his perfectly tailored suits. Sakuma had a vivid flash to another time and place, when they’d both been too young, too reckless, and not nearly as friendly. He had a scar on his shoulder from that encounter, and he knew Miyoshi had a matching one on his hip.

In the ten years since, he’d never come as close to catching him as he had that night. And now that he wasn’t beholden to an international crime-fighting organization he could admit that that might have had nearly as much to do with his own reluctance as Miyoshi’s brilliance.

“Didn’t you bring me a bouquet?” Miyoshi asked, stepping closer and peering up through his eyelashes. It should have looked silly on a grown man. It didn’t.

“I would have, but there aren’t any florists open this late,” he said regretfully. He wasn’t lying. Miyoshi’s stunned face would have been worth the exorbitant price of a dozen red roses.

He took in the others with a dismissive glance. “An entourage, Detective Inspector? Come to arrest me? I’m an honest citizen now, I swear,” he said, holding his hands up innocently.                                                                                                                                                            

That was probably true, actually. With the money he’d made grifting his way across the globe, he could probably live quite extravagantly for a long time.

Sakuma took a deep breath and lifted his chin. “I’m not.”

That seemed to startle Miyoshi. “Oh?” he said, tilting his head.

“Interpol sacked me.”

“Their loss,” Miyoshi murmured. “So in your despair you’ve taken to a life of crime?” He said it neutrally enough, but Sakuma sensed his skepticism. And something else; a flash of distress maybe. That was interesting. Perhaps their last meeting had weighed on Miyoshi as much as it had Sakuma.

He barked a laugh. “Hardly. I was duped, and nearly killed. I’d like your help getting the bastard who did it.”

Miyoshi’s face lit up at that, though it was difficult to say whether the pleasure was pure or schadenfreude. “Are you inviting me to play a game with you, Detec—Sakuma-san?”

Sakuma ducked his head a little, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Yes. I am.”

Miyoshi adjusted his bag, then linked their arms together and beamed up at him. “How could I possibly say no to such a compelling request?”

Sakuma felt a tension in his shoulders loosen, one he hadn’t even been aware of till then, and matched the grin with one of his own.

“Ugh,” Hatano gagged. Sakuma was frankly impressed he’d managed to keep it in so long. “You two are disgusting. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Kaminaga swatted him on the back of the head. “You are the absolute last person who ought to be saying that with a straight face.” Which, of course, devolved into an argument as everything with those two seemed to do. Sakuma sighed, long-suffering. He hadn’t even known them a whole day yet, and he was already tired of them.

“You’ve made some interesting friends,” Miyoshi observed, looking on with fascination. His hair looked soft where it brushed lightly against Sakuma’s shoulder.

“You have no idea,” he said. “It’s been one hell of a day. Shall we?”

 

{D-Agency Headquarters

23:48}

Miyoshi bitched incessantly the entire convoluted trek through Club Youko’s back end to the D-Agency’s loft; at least when he wasn’t mercilessly criticizing every security flaw he saw. Of which there were many, apparently. Sakuma couldn’t help but admire his boldness.

“Ah, how disappointing,” he said mournfully, as they came up on what Sakuma thought was the last door. “I would have never expected this level of carelessness from the vaunted _D-Agency_. I expected intelligence, and instead I find you’re all just paranoid freaks. And so cruel to guests who’ve been working hard all day. For shame.”

“Shut your boyfriend up before I do,” Hatano growled. The others had merely taken the critique stoically, though they’d each become progressively more stiff of back.

“Miyoshi,” Sakuma said. He didn’t put any inflection behind it, because Miyoshi did not take well to being scolded. Also, he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t got his own kicks out of the running commentary—he quite enjoyed the viciousness when it wasn’t directed at him. Miyoshi squeezed Sakuma’s arm—which he’d refused to relinquish the entire trip back—and pursed his lips a little, but he quieted.

There were two new faces in the penthouse. The man speaking quietly with Fukumoto as he helped tidy up the kitchen was built rather solidly. He also had an impressive poker face. He didn’t register a single expression as he watched them enter, though he did nod slightly in greeting.

“Oi, Odagiri, I hope you saved some for us!” Kaminaga called.

“You shouldn’t have left without eating first,” Odagiri replied placidly. “Fuku-san works hard, you know.”

Both Kaminaga and Amari began to whine at that. Sakuma wasn’t listening, and Miyoshi had also gone still next to him, because the other person was an older gentleman. And he wasn’t _in_ the flat, precisely. Viewed from the waist up, he was stern and imposing as he gazed out from the massive television in the sitting area. It could have been a portrait, but for the impatient tapping of the man’s fingers on the intricate handle of his cane.

The man had many names: Yuuki was one of them, and the one he used officially. It was the moniker most law enforcement agencies used to identify him.

Demon Lord was another, spoken in hushed whispers in the very same agencies, so as not to be scolded for their superstition.

“Ah, Yuuki-san, is it that time already?” Hatano called cheerfully. The D-Agency group began to drift into the room, taking seats around the television. Sakuma began to follow, but it was proving a bit harder than usual to walk, with a Miyoshi who refused to budge attached to his arm.

“Miyoshi?” he said quietly, concerned. He was very pale. But when he noticed Sakuma looking, he put his head up haughtily and finally moved forward. He still didn’t relinquish Sakuma’s arm, though.

“Hatano,” Yuuki acknowledged. “Neither Fukumoto nor Odagiri were especially helpful in explaining why, in my absence, three of you took a job I expressly forbade you from taking.”

“Wasn’t that more of a suggestion?” Kaminaga pondered philosophically, then slurped noodles happily from a bowl. It seemed Fukumoto had given in after all.

“I very clearly said, ‘I forbid you from taking this job.’”

“Oh right I remember now,” Hatano said slowly, and shrugged. “I forgot.”

Yuuki pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tazaki? I expect this sort of insubordination from these two, but what’s your excuse?”

“Ah, sorry, I don’t have one prepared. I just thought it was interesting so I willfully disobeyed.”

 _Are they his subordinates or are they his children?_ Sakuma wondered, vaguely awed that there were people who existed in this world who possessed the sheer audacity required to talk to the Demon Lord in such a way, never mind explicitly disobey his will. People he _employed_ , no less.

Yuuki sighed, then turned his sharp gaze on Sakuma. “You,” he barked.

Sakuma bowed slightly. “Yes, sir!” he said unthinkingly, then blushed with humiliation.

“Are you an idiot?” Miyoshi hissed at him, tugging him back up by the arm he still clung to. “Don’t bow in a suit!”

“Are you an idiot?” Yuuki asked at the same time. “Never mind, I already know the answer to that,” he cut off whatever Sakuma had opened his mouth to say. Probably agreement, honestly. He had been an idiot; for taking the job in the first place, and then again for choosing to come here instead of alerting the proper authorities after the explosion. “You’ve already proven yourself to be quite incompetent. The question is: what are you going to do about it?”

This was the shittiest week _ever_. First, he was fired from the job he’d devoted more than a third of his life to; then he let himself be suckered into working with the likes of these monsters and was almost blown up for his troubles. But this really took the cake—getting dressed down by a criminal fucking mastermind. Someone needed to give him a goddamn break.

“Oikawa was a snake,” Hatano interjected, taking the heat off Sakuma for the moment. Sakuma very nearly liked him just then. Of course he ruined it a few seconds later. “It’s not Sakuma’s fault he’s a soft touch. Besides, everything _we_ dug up about the Pig said he was totally above board!”

“Obviously, you didn’t dig deep enough,” Yuuki retorted. “Now that you’ve done this foolish thing, see it through. Don’t let him have time to regroup and don’t let him catch you unawares again. _Fix this_.”

The ‘yes, sir’s that followed each had varying degrees of enthusiasm, but all seemed sincere. Yuuki turned to look in Sakuma’s direction again, and he braced himself.

“Hello, Miyoshi.”

The comparative softness of that greeting following the previous censure was jarring. Sakuma scowled as the uneasiness in his gut made an unwelcome return. It was the same feeling he’d had right before the explosion, and look how that turned out. Something terrible was about to happen here, he knew it.

How the hell did Yuuki know Miyoshi well enough to greet him with such familiarity?

Miyoshi sighed from where he had been partially concealed simply by proximity and angle. He finally let go of his death grip on Sakuma’s arm and stepped forward into clear view of the webcam setting atop the television. “Hello old man,” he said flatly, “I suppose I should have expected you’d be just as much of a control freak as you ever were, and have to check up on your little band ducklings. Your security’s shit by the way. I could have broken in twelve different ways if I was so inclined.” When Sakuma chanced a glimpse of his face it made all the hair on his body stand on end. Miyoshi was utterly devoid of expression, with no trace that his usual playful personality even existed.

This wasn’t the gentleman thief; this was someone completely different. Someone Sakuma didn’t know. The feeling in in his gut intensified exponentially.

Yuuki shook his head and smirked, nearly indulgent. “Haven’t I asked you, repeatedly, to call me ‘Dad’?”

 _So that’s the catastrophe_ , Sakuma thought faintly as pandemonium erupted.

 

{Hotel Villa Fontaine

Roppongi

Thursday, 09:21}

 

Apparently, Sakuma had a room facing east. When he’d arrived at the hotel in the small hours of the morning, he’d been too exhausted to do more than set a trap, and collapse into the bed fully clothed. He couldn’t even remember falling asleep.

Now the sun was warming his face and the brightness behind his lids was becoming too bothersome to ignore. Even turning his face the other direction didn’t help much. He wanted to get up and close the curtains, but he was so warm and sleepy and comfortable that he loathed the thought of getting up. His life had taken a deeply strange turn, and he’d like to ignore it for a while longer.

When the brightness only intensified, he buried his head into the pillow and groaned. Opening his eyes slowly, he reluctantly turned his head toward the light. And immediately shrieked, rolling away and tumbling over the side of the bed. For long moments he lay there, heart racing, and stunned into silence.

Eventually, Miyoshi must have tired of waiting for him to come back up, because his head appeared over the side of the bed, looking mildly concerned. Seeing Sakuma was relatively fine, he smiled sleepily and wiggled his fingers in greeting. “Good morning, Sakuma-san.”

“How did you get in here?” Sakuma demanded. He scrambled up, untangling his legs from the sheets, and delivered his best glower…which Miyoshi did not seem to find the least threatening, if the amused twitching of his mouth was anything to go by.

Miyoshi gave him a Look. “You need some new tricks,” he said, and gestured at the small table, where a length of twine and a fire extinguisher, along with various other bits and bobs were arranged neatly. The components of Sakuma’s trap, expertly disassembled. “Remind me later and I’ll teach you a few of mine.”

“ _Why_ are you here, then?” Sakuma ground out, clenching his fists. “The plan is to meet back at D-Agency. _Later_.”

“I don’t know.” Miyoshi sat up and pulled his legs up to his chest, refusing to meet Sakuma’s eyes for once. He began picking at the chipping purple paint on his toenails, and the effort to remain stern in the face of such an endearing image nearly gave Sakuma an aneurism.

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, attempting to let the frustration go. Because he could, and because it pleased him, he let himself just look at Miyoshi. He had his hair pinned back away from his face, prominent forehead on display, for once, and he wore a simple white t-shirt and black boxer-briefs–both of which were undoubtedly hideously expensive. He had faint red imprints on his face from the folds in the pillowcase, rumpled and sleepy; vulnerable in a way Sakuma had never seen him.

 _God, he’s beautiful_ , Sakuma thought, helplessly charmed. It was the very same thought, in the very same tone he’d had ten years ago, the first time their paths had crossed. They’d been in a hotel that time too, in Cairo, and it had been sheer luck, or perhaps fate, that Sakuma had happened upon him at all. Even colored by enmity and pain from the fresh gunshot wound in his shoulder, he hadn’t been able to help his admiration. Then, Miyoshi had been like some cool, unspeakably exquisite demon, with his ten-thousand-dollar suit and briefcase full of priceless artefacts. The smirk he’d worn as he lowered the pistol said he knew he’s won.

That smirk had lasted up until he’d turned away and Sakuma had raised his own previously hidden piece to aim and shoot, clipping his then-unknown attacker on the hip. Sakuma remembered it vividly: the way Miyoshi turned around and gaped at him with a look of such profound disbelief it had nearly been _sweet_ …and perhaps even a little admiration in his turn. “Well played, Agent,” he’d said, through clenched teeth, before throwing himself out the open window.

But he'd left the artefacts.

To this day, the memory made heat and excitement bloom low in Sakuma’s belly. Theirs had been a high-stakes game of cat and mouse ever since; one which they both enjoyed immensely, if Miyoshi’s naked pleasure when they crossed paths was anything to go by.

Though for his part, the enjoyment had gone decidedly sour once he realized he was in love with Miyoshi some two or three years ago. It had taken several successive nights of heavy drinking to come to terms with the fact that what he wanted to do with Miyoshi if and when he caught him, had perhaps something to do with handcuffs, but absolutely nothing at all to do with actually arresting him and sending him to prison.

“Sakuma-san?”

Sakuma shook his head to clear it. Now was not the time, not when there were so many things to do. Firstly, he needed to go collect his luggage from the other hotel.

Luggage which was sitting innocently, directly inside the door. Sakuma pointed at it. “That’s my suitcase.”

“Excellent observation skills!” Miyoshi said in an insulting monotone. “I took the liberty; I hope you don’t mind?”

“Why?” Sakuma asked, truly baffled. He wasn’t going to ask how Miyoshi had found out where he’d been staying, because he didn’t want to know.

Miyoshi shrugged.

Sakuma narrowed his eyes at Miyoshi’s downturned head. He didn’t know what was going on inside that head, but he didn’t like it. He picked up the suitcase and placed it on the table, narrowly avoiding knocking over the fire extinguisher. The first thing he noticed upon unzipping it was that someone other than him had been snooping. Whether it had been Oikawa’s lackeys or Miyoshi himself was irrelevant—there had been nothing in the suitcase either of them could use against him to begin with. Probably.

Miyoshi muttered under his breath, and Sakuma turned to him. “Excuse me?” He was becoming impatient and let it color his tone.

“Are we just going to ignore the elephant in the room, then?” Miyoshi flared, glare turned up to ten.

Sakuma closed his eyes. There it was. He hated it, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t pleased that Miyoshi had apparently been worrying about his reaction to his…heritage? Pedigree? Were there thief lineages? “If at all possible,” he said at last, knowing full well that it _wasn’t_ possible, now that it’d been brought up.

“I don’t think that’s going to work, Sakuma-san. There’s no way you don’t have questions.”

Questions? Sakuma had plenty, beginning with, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ and ending with, ‘Where do we go from here?’ The problem was, he already knew the answers to all of those questions, especially the first one, and hearing them aloud might break something already unbearably fragile.

So he’d made a decision, before Miyoshi had even shown up in his bed.

“It doesn’t change anything that matters,” Sakuma said. He returned Miyoshi’s incredulous gaze unflinchingly, willing him to see how much he meant that. Willing him to understand what he wasn’t saying.

Miyoshi broke the stalemate finally, and flopped back on the pillows. His whole body shook with suppressed laughter. “You really are one of a kind, Sakuma-san. Anyone else who discovered my relationship with the old man would already be planning how best to use it against one or both of us.”

Sakuma winced. Yeah, he was really trying to feel guilty about how little desire he had to do that, but he just didn’t have it in him. That wasn’t his job anymore.

It should probably alarm him, just how comfortable he was with that already.

He was actually feeling very zen about his entire situation. It was a new day with all new chances. He rummaged around the innards of the suitcase for a moment, pulling some things out and rearranging others to his liking. He felt bad for thinking it had been Miyoshi who’d been the snoop—whoever it was, was a rank amateur. They hadn’t even attempted to put things back in the proper order.

Thankfully, Miyoshi seemed to drop the subject. Though the one he decided to move on to was equally uncomfortable for Sakuma, it was in a much different way.

“I always liked that about you.” His voice was practically a purr, low and intimate. Sakuma chanced a glance and had to turn back sharply, swallowing, at the image Miyoshi made, sprawled loose and tempting over the unmade bed.

“Liked what?” he asked, and was surprised how low his voice was in response.

“How decent you are. The fact that you never looked down on me, even when you were trying like hell to catch me.”

“And failing miserably,” Sakuma muttered under his breath. Miyoshi laughed at that and Sakuma smiled down into his bag.

“You respected me.”

“You were a worthy adversary.” Sakuma had finally succeeded in distracting himself with his search. Where the hell had the snoop stashed his fucking underwear?

“As were you. And now here we are, on the same side,” Miyoshi said, a strange note in his voice that Sakuma had no intention of trying to decipher. “What are you doing?” he asked more normally a few moments later.

“Looking for my underwear,” Sakuma replied, face heating up for some reason. What was he, some virgin teenager? They were just clothes.

Miyoshi bounced off the bed and came over. He unzipped some obscure pocket and pulled out a pair of boxers with cartoon cats all over them. He raised an eyebrow as he held them up between them.

“ _They were a gift_ ,” Sakuma snapped, snatching them away. The next pair he pulled out were his usual plain briefs, and he sighed with relief.

“Since you’re still getting ready, I’ll take the first shower.” Miyoshi stopped just short of the bathroom. “Unless you’d like to join me?” he asked with a sly smile over his shoulder. The cat boxers landed on his head and he chortled as he closed the door between them.

To distract himself from thoughts of Miyoshi naked and wet and soapy in the next room, Sakuma turned on the television. The news was on and Sakuma half listened as he looked through the room-service menu. Now that he was fully awake he was starving. After ordering, he turned back to the news, hoping there might be further information available about the warehouse explosion. They were talking about a fugitive wanted for arson, and he looked up curiously when he heard his own family name. That was a funny coincidence…

The menu he was still holding fluttered to the floor. Miyoshi opened the bathroom door, saying, “I went ahead and used the complimentary toothbru—Sakuma-san?”

Miyoshi was dripping, flushed from the hot water, and wearing only a towel—a trifecta that should have brought Sakuma to his knees, but he couldn’t even appreciate it. All he could register was his own face staring back at him from the television.

Miyoshi followed his line of sight and after a moment said weakly, “Well…at least they used a picture from when you were bald?”

Sakuma let loose a string of curses in every single language he knew.

 

{D-Agency Headquarters

Thursday, 12:32}

“This is a _disaster_ ,” Kaminaga marveled. Hatano whistled, low and prolonged.

Sakuma hid his face in his hands as the news anchor continued to matter-of-factly decimate his character. Sakuma’s head spun as phrases like ‘illegal drug addiction’ and ‘documented violent tendencies’ and ‘psychotic break’ continued to fall from her pretty, malicious mouth.

Oikawa had framed him for the explosion. That was the only explanation that made any sense.

Someone sat down beside him and pushed a glass of something into his hands. Sakuma looked down at it, then up at Miyoshi, whose face was tight with worry. “Drink it,” he coaxed. “It’s the old man’s good stuff. It’ll make you feel better,” he finished in a whisper.

Sakuma was up for anything that might do that at this point, even liquor stolen from the Demon Lord himself. He knocked the contents back in one go. Whatever it was burned all the way down, and he wheezed through it. “Another,” he managed.

Miyoshi took the glass back with a small smile and a shake of his head. “You needed to calm down, but you also need to think clearly. We need a _real_ plan now.”

“You’re right,” Sakuma stood to pace some more—if this kept up he’d have to buy D-Agency new flooring, and said, “The objective is still the same. Get the designs back before the shareholders’ meeting on Monday, and take Oikawa down.”

“And get proof that he was responsible for the explosion,” Hatano added.

“Yes, that as well. I just can’t quite see the route between here and there. Have you been able to find out anything else Tazaki?” Sakuma called over. “You don’t blow up a warehouse on your first step over the line. There has to be some kind of history of escalation.”

Tazaki shook his head. “I’ve looked everywhere I can think of—twice. Every database is coming up clean. I’ve sent out crawlers all over the net, but none have brought back anything substantial.”

“Then think more unsubstantial. Explore all avenues, even ones you might think are dead ends.”

Tazaki nodded and cracked his knuckles. “He does have an encrypted partition on his office computer that might yield better results. I’d need physical access to get at it.”

Sakuma nodded. “We’ll get it. Fukumoto, Kaminaga—you searched his flat, correct?”

“It’s more like a museum,” Kaminaga said thoughtfully. “It doesn’t really seem like anyone lives there, you know? Creepy.”

“It’s true,” Fukumoto confirmed. “Everything is very high end, as one would expect from someone of Oikawa-san’s means, but his cupboards and refrigerator were bare, as well as the drawers in his bedroom. It looked as though he hadn’t been there in some time.”

Sakuma frowned. According to Takai’s surveillance cameras Oikawa left the office promptly at 18:00 every day. So where did he go? A mistress, perhaps?

“I’ll tail him tonight,” Odagiri offered. Sakuma nodded his thanks.

“I’d like to tag along, if that’s alright?” Miyoshi interjected, looking from Odagiri to Sakuma. “It might give me some idea how to approach him.”

Sakuma nodded. “We need to get access to that computer.”

Jitsui raised a hand politely, joining the conversation for the first time. “I think that’s our area of expertise,” he said, sharing a look with Hatano.

Thinking of the Louvre nightmare, Sakuma couldn’t really disagree. “No graffiti this time,” he said with a sigh. Hatano clasped his hands behind his head, and fairly radiated smugness. He didn’t agree or disagree one way or another.

 

{Takai Aerospace

Marunouchi, Chiyoda

That Evening, 22:30}

“Copy, Jitsui and Hatano,” Tazaki said. The back of the sleek black van resembled nothing so much as some high-tech control room and Tazaki seemed in his element. His fingers glided over gizmos and gadgets Sakuma didn’t even know the names of with an ease that bordered on affectionate.

For his part, Sakuma was just trying not to take up too much space.

“Copy,” Jitsui and Hatano echoed.

He’d insisted on coming along, though he wasn’t technically needed for this leg of the mission. But if he had to listen to Miyoshi and the rest of this lot trade sickeningly domestic stories about the great Demon Lord for one second more he was going to eat his gun.

Yuuki loved strawberry ice-cream and J-dramas and Sakuma could not _believe_ that that knowledge would now remain in his brain forever, slowly driving him insane.

“Say, Jitsui…” Hatano said slyly, and Sakuma was coming to realize that that tone of voice meant Trouble. “How about we have a race?”

“We’re going to different places,” Jitsui replied, though he sounded intrigued.

“You scared I’ll win?” Hatano taunted.

“Stakes?” Jitsui sounded entirely cheerful, but Sakuma still shuddered. How did he _do_ that?

“The _usual_.” Hatano made it sound _filthy_ so Sakuma absolutely did not want to know. He and Jitsui went back and forth for another moment before Tazaki cut in, frowning.

“Cut the chatter, boys.”

“You see something?” Sakuma asked, leaning over his shoulder to look at the building blueprints.

“Maybe. I picked up a little interference.”

Now that he listened, Sakuma could hear it, too. It was very faint, but there was some static.

“Stop for a second, Hatano, it’s coming from your earpiece.”

“Not a chance!” Hatano squawked. “Do you _know_ what that sadist will do to me if he wins?”

“No, and please don’t tell us!” Sakuma snapped.

“I’ll stop too,” Jitsui soothed. “Oh, except it looks like I’m already here. How unfortunate for you, Hatano.”

“You _sneaky_ —” Hatano snarled. “You cheated!”

“I tried to tell you,” Jitsui said, false innocence dripping from every word.

“Guys…” Tazaki whined. “Please be quiet.”

They obliged, as Tazaki tapped on his keyboard. “I…think it’s a bug. You can move now, Hatano. I’ll be able to tell more about the location if the signal becomes stronger. If it’s somewhere that will compromise the job, I’ll have to work on blocking it.”

The signal did become stronger, the static increasing incrementally as Hatano’s dot inched along on the screen.

“How are you doing, Jitsui?” Sakuma asked as Tazaki began mumbling to himself, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“The program is nearly finished running.”

“I’m over the Pig’s office,” Hatano whispered. “Am I safe, Tazaki?”

“Gimme another second or two,” Tazaki responded. “There—I’ve temporarily interfered with the signal. We need to keep it brief so we don’t alert the owner that they’ve been discovered. We don’t know who the bug belongs to.”

“Hmm, I found it,” Hatano said.

“Where?”

“It’s up here in the vent,” Hatano said, sounding distracted. “I don’t know a lot about these things, though.”

“Leave it,” Sakuma said. “We need the data from that computer. Proceed as planned.” It was interesting to know that they weren’t the only ones after Oikawa, though.

Sakuma’s phone vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it. Whoever it was could wait.

“Just plug the device into the—” Tazaki began.

“I _know_ ,” Hatano said. “We already went over this. I’m doing it now.”

One of Tazaki’s machines chirruped a few seconds later and he turned to perform his mysterious hacker magic on it.

“Bingo,” he said a few moments later. “The partition is downloading onto a spare hard-drive as we speak.”

Sakuma’s phone vibrated again and he frowned as he took it out of his pocket to see it was an unknown number. When he looked up, Tazaki’s triumphant smile was fading as his face went very pale, and through the earbud he heard Hatano say, faintly, “Oh god…I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“What’s going on?” Jitsui asked, alarmed.

Sakuma couldn’t have answered even if he’d known what to say. He closed his eyes, but the image on the console had been burned into his mind. He felt like he might be sick, too. His phone buzzed again. “Get that off the screen Hatano’s looking at,” he ordered, before accepting the call and snapping, “Who is this?” Jitsui was having the calmest-sounding panic attack Sakuma had ever heard in the background, but he ignored it. Tazaki was orders of magnitude better equipped to handle the younger thieves anyway.

“Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi said. He sounded as agitated as Sakuma had ever heard him, which did not bode well. He was not a person who was easily shaken.

Fairly certain he knew what Miyoshi was going to say, he nodded to himself. “I was wrong about the mistress,” he said grimly. _So very very wrong._ Tazaki was speaking to Hatano and Jitsui in a soft voice, and had thankfully minimized the window with the distressing photograph.

There was a beat. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“I don’t think there’s anything left about this man that could surprise me. How young?”

“Too young. Much too young,” Miyoshi said very softly.

“He’s not the first, and he won’t be the last unless we stop him.” Sakuma had a fairly good idea who was bugging their target now. Or at least why. “You and Odagiri meet us back at D-Agency. You said we needed a real plan; now I have one.”

Sakuma hung up without waiting for a response. “Hatano, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he said, voice wavering.

“I need you to do something for me before you leave. Are you up to it?”

Hatano took an audibly deep breath, and sounded slightly calmer when he said, “Just tell me what to do.”

 _Good boy_ , Sakuma thought, but wisely didn’t say it. He didn’t think Jitsui would appreciate his phrasing.

 

{D-Agency Headquarters

23:50}

As soon as they entered the flat, Fukumoto took one look at Hatano’s pale, blank face and instructed them to get him a blanket and sit him down. Then he’d gone about the mundane task of preparing an army’s-worth of tea, which he distributed with Amari and Odagiri’s help, when he and Miyoshi arrived just a moment or two later.

Hatano sat in the circle of Jitsui’s arms and did not move. He was obviously shaken and Sakuma felt for him. He supposed the images had been a lot harder to take for someone who looked so much like the victim—and they’d been plenty hard to take anyway.

“What do we do now?” Amari asked, hushed, as though reluctant to break the silence that had fallen in the wake of this new information.

Sakuma hesitated. They weren’t going to like this, but at this point they weren’t just in over their heads—they couldn’t even see the surface anymore. There was more than simple retribution involved now. Though he thought he already knew their answer, he made the suggestion anyway. “I think we should consider bringing in the authorities. I still have contacts, and I swear to keep your names out of it.”

“Yes, I’m sure Interpol would be very happy to hear from you, Sakuma-san,” Kaminaga drawled. “Would you like me to handcuff you now so you’re all ready to go when they arrive? You’re a fugitive, remember?”

“Of course I do,” he said, voice even. It was risk he was willing to take, if they agreed with him.

One by one, they shook their heads. “Save the martyr routine for when we really need it,” Kaminaga said wryly.

Sakuma breathed out slowly. It was Plan B then. “Is there any incriminating evidence other than the videos and photographs on the hard drive, Tazaki?”

Tazaki sat back with a sigh, shaking his head. “It’s going to take a while to sift through this, but there don’t appear to be any documents on the drive. Only…that.”

Sakuma stuck his hands in his pockets, mulling over the plan that had begun to take shape back in the van. He’d never undertaken such a project without the full cooperation of the local police. Could they pull it off with just the nine of them? The answer, of course, was that they didn’t have a choice. They had to.

Oikawa was smart. He was powerful. His actions up till then screamed that he didn’t believe he could be touched. He was confident—too confident. And they could use that against him.

“What are you thinking?” Miyoshi asked quietly.

“I’m wondering if your black-hearted monster is still as convincing as it was in Brussels.”

The ghost of a smile passed over Miyoshi’s face, and he cocked his head arrogantly. “Are you doubting me, Sakuma-san?”

Sakuma shook his head. “Never.” He turned his gaze on Hatano next and was somewhat surprised to find him looking back. He seemed better; color had returned to his face and he was looking more like his normal self.

Sakuma wished he’d never seen Hatano looking as fragile as he had earlier. He should always be a cheeky little shit with no filter and fucked up priorities. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he began. “If I’d known—”

“Nobody knew, Bear-san,” Hatano interrupted. “Even Tazaki didn’t know, and he’s way better at this stuff than you are. Why are you even apologizing to me? I’m not a kid and you’re not my parent.” He actually sounded kind of indignant.

Sakuma reached out and ruffled his hair before he could dodge. “Well, one of those things is true, anyway. Alright,” he addressed the rest of the room as Hatano pitched a totally predictable fit. “Let’s destroy this son of a bitch.”

 

{Takai Aerospace

Friday, 09:40}

Sakuma sipped his coffee, unmindful of the burn and bitterness. He much preferred tea for recreation, but between jetlag and sleepless investigations, he had become accustomed to substituting caffeine for true rest. Now it was very nearly a necessity.

Being forced to stay at D-Agency to minimize his chances of being recognized and arrested had not lent itself to a restful night, in any case. When Miyoshi had first seen him that morning he’d wrinkled his nose in distaste and muttered something incomprehensible about cucumbers and moisturizer before shoving the first coffee into his hands. Black and near syrupy with sugar—just how he liked it.

Yet another thing Sakuma was not questioning.

He was on his third cup, and once again huddled in Tazaki’s Hacker Mobile outside of Takai Aerospace. But for the company, this could have been any of the hundreds of stakeouts or surveillance parties he’d participated in over the course of his career.

Miyoshi was doing a last check over his appearance, making sure every aspect of his character was in place, muttering constantly under his breath. Today his glasses were horn-rimmed, his suit plain but well-tailored, and the usual winsome sharpness of his face softened through the magic of make-up. He looked older, probably closer to his true age.

Amari had lines of strain marring his handsome face as he watched, while Kaminaga scowled openly. Hatano sprawled in the passenger’s seat, disinterestedly paging through a magazine, or so it seemed. He kept joggling his knee intermittently, at least until he realized it and stopped the telling motion. Tazaki kept his eyes firmly on his equipment, but even he seemed kind of tense.

Sakuma sipped his coffee serenely, and consulted his watch. “You’re up, Miyoshi.”

“Yes, yes,” he said softly, opening the side door and hopping out.

“Do your best,” Amari said with a smile that looked forced.

Miyoshi met Sakuma’s eyes and rolled his deliberately. “Thanks,” he replied dryly. “I will.”

When he’d been gone a few moments, Amari broke the silence. “Are you sure he’s going to be okay?”

Sakuma stretched his legs; his left one was asleep and he winced at the pins-and-needles as circulation returned to it. He was glad to be able to move, finally.

“Yeah, I mean…I know Yuuki-san said Miyoshi was his son and that he trained him, but he was _super_ awful the other night.”

“I can hear you all, you know,” Miyoshi said coolly over the earbud frequency. Amari and Kaminaga both wore _oops_ expressions, though neither of them looked particularly contrite.

Sakuma frowned, annoyed at their lack of faith. Even if they didn’t know Miyoshi, they should know Sakuma wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the job—it was his own ass on the line here, after all. “If there’s a single part of this plan I’m _not_ concerned about, it’s Miyoshi.”

“Thank you, Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi said, much more warmly.

“I didn’t say it to stroke your ego; I said it because it’s the truth.”

Miyoshi’s tone didn’t change in the slightest. “Of course. That’s why it means so much,” he said softly. “The rest of you,” he said more sharply, with just a slight edge of wicked humor, “Listen and learn.”

Kaminaga hummed skeptically, but they subsided and listened.

Miyoshi didn’t have any problems getting past the assistant on Oikawa’s floor; Tazaki had hacked the appointment book software she used and added Miyoshi to it under the name Gamou Jirou.

As Miyoshi, or Gamou rather, spoke with Oikawa, Sakuma watched in amusement as Kaminaga and Amari’s faces became progressively more slack with disbelief. Miyoshi hit just the right notes of confidence in himself and flattery for Oikawa that one would expect from someone desiring to enter into a business arrangement.

“He’s not awful,” Kaminaga breathed.

“He’s _good_ ,” Amari corrected, no little admiration coloring his tone.

Privately, Sakuma disagreed with them both. Miyoshi wasn’t just good—he was the best. Better than anyone else Sakuma had ever chased. “I told you, didn’t I?” he said quietly. “ _This_ is his stage. Miyoshi couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag—unless he’s conning someone.”

“Yeah, but the difference is a bit…”

“Unbelievable? How about far-fetched?” Hatano muttered.

Sakuma jammed his elbow into the back of Hatano’s seat.

Miyoshi had reached the part of the conversation where he dangled the bait. He’d just offered Oikawa an opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a new airline, an almost-but-not-quite too good to be true deal that would involve outsourcing most of the labor (and cost) to a developing country, while Takai reaped the rewards of their investment. Just the potential public relations capital he stood to gain should have made the deal nigh irresistible.

They all held their breath as Oikawa considered in silence. “As tempting as your offer is, Gamou-san—” he began apologetically and everyone but Sakuma deflated.

“It was a good shot,” Amari said regretfully.

“We’ll just have to think of something else,” Kaminaga added.

“Wait,” Sakuma said, listening intently.

“Bear-san, Oikawa’s not interested.” Hatano peered around the seat at him, brow furrowed. “He’ll crash and burn if he keeps at it.”

“Just wait for it. He’s not done yet.”

“I’ll take my proposal to Tobu,” Miyoshi said, quiet and cool.

A moment passed. “Go ahead. Tobu’s a good company.”

“They are, yes. They have a reputation for being willing to take risks, and a history of choosing projects well—it seems like everything Miyata touches turns to gold. Less than ten years old and they’ve already caught up with and nearly overtaken Takai in profit margins. Yes, I think Tobu would be a better fit after all. Thank you for your time, Oikawa-san.”

“Wait—Gamou-san there’s no need to be so hasty. Let’s discuss this.”

“What’s left to discuss?”

“Oh, perhaps your blatant manipulation?” The words themselves were accusing, and he had obviously not liked the implication that he was inferior to Miyata in any way, but Oikawa still sounded more amused than anything.

“Caught that, did you?” Miyoshi said airily. Then his voice went low and forceful. “I believe in this project, Oikawa-san. Let me convince you.” All at once he backed off the intensity, going for flirtatious. “Over drinks tonight, perhaps?”

Oikawa laughed. “I have a prior engagement tonight, unfortunately.”

“Then tomorrow.”

“You are very forward, Gamou-san.”

“I prefer to think of it as ‘passionate’.”

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

“Really?” Sakuma was sure that even the gods would be taken in by such hope and joy as Miyoshi injected into his voice. He obviously saw the appallingly unsubtle bait and switch coming from a mile away, just as Sakuma did, but he projected gullibility like a champ.

“—to have a drink with you,” Oikawa finished. Several seconds later, he said, “This is the address of my preferred bar. Meet me there tomorrow at nine o’clock and we’ll…chat.”

“I look forward to it, Oikawa-san. You won’t regret this. Thank you,” Miyoshi said, sincerity dripping from every word.

Hatano held his hand out wordlessly. Sakuma stared at it for few beats, before smacking it. Hatano turned back around.

“On your way back, Miyoshi?” Sakuma asked.

“Yes. And Sakuma-san?” Miyoshi’s tone was light, so there was no reason Sakuma should feel like he’d been dipped in a vat of ice-water. “You’re going to pay for that paper bag comment. Many times over. You can start by treating me to dinner.”

Sakuma flinched. _Shit_.

 

{7 Chome, 13-2

Roppongi

18:30}

“This…is not exactly what I had in mind when I said ‘dinner,’” Miyoshi said, eyeing the non-descript ramen stand dubiously. He looked comically out of place in his designer trench coat, regarding the perfectly nice neighborhood as though it was covered in some invisible muck.

Sakuma snickered at him and held up the curtain. “My revenue stream is a bit dried up right now, so you’ll have to make do with what my thin wallet and I can afford.”

“They froze your accounts?” Miyoshi asked, taking his seat.

“Every one,” Sakuma confirmed. After ordering, they sat there in a somewhat awkward silence. Miyoshi seemed to have grown bored of disdain and looked around the humble establishment curiously.

Sakuma took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Once my name is cleared, I promise I’ll take you to the fanciest French restaurant you can find.”

“For a proper treat?” The tone was light, but guarded too, in some way.

“No,” Sakuma denied. He inhaled deeply once more and showed his hand. “For a date.”

Miyoshi blinked, then laughed, delighted. “How much did that cost you?”

Sakuma smiled and reached out—hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as Miyoshi merely watched—and swept his fingers lightly across a soft cheek, fuzzy with stubble, and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “That depends on you, doesn’t it?”

Miyoshi’s eyes went heavy lidded and soft, and he pushed his face more firmly into the contact. “I can assure you there’s no safer bet than a bet on me, Sakuma-san.”

“That’s good to hear.” Since his gamble had paid off so well, he decided to take another. “Did you give it up because of me?”

The owner set their bowls down in front of them and wandered away. Miyoshi sniffed his cautiously, and interest replaced the skepticism in his expression. He sounded distracted as he focused on breaking his chopsticks, “Give what up? Thievery?” He cursed as his first set broke unevenly. “Absolutely not.”

Sakuma snapped a pair expertly and handed them over. _Thank goodness_ , he thought. He’d wondered, when Miyoshi had suddenly disappeared from the scene soon after their last unpleasant encounter. He was glad to have at least that weight lifted. He hadn’t liked the idea that Miyoshi might come to resent him. “Why did you stop, then?”

Miyoshi hummed through his mouthful and tilted his head, considering. “I don’t know; I suppose I got bored. And then it got even less interesting when I couldn’t harass my favorite Interpol officer every now and then. This is delicious, Sakuma-san.”

Sakuma frowned. “So it was partially because of me?”

“Not in the way you think. I don’t hold you responsible, so you can stop worrying. It was a choice I made on my own. You just happened to be one of the many factors I took into consideration.”

“I see.”

“You should be honored I thought of you at all.”

“Oh, I am. Very honored.” Sakuma was trying very hard to keep a straight face.

“Good. Anyway, I thought it would be the perfect chance to pursue my acting career.”

They ate in silence for a few moments. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you should probably look into moonlighting somewhere.”

Miyoshi shoved him off the stool and Sakuma hit the floor laughing.

~*~

_{The Louvre_

_Paris_

_Give or take a year before the present time}_

_“What a lovely surprise, Detective Inspector.” Miyoshi said in impeccable French, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Are you stalking me?”_

_Sakuma had gone against the team’s wishes, coming out on the museum floor as soon as he’d seen that familiar face on the CCTV. Miyoshi wasn’t in disguise, which meant he wasn’t here on ‘business.’  Likewise, Sakuma wasn’t here for him this time; the theft they were investigating was all wrong, not Miyoshi’s style at all. He’d never do something as crass as leave taunting graffiti in the place of his target. No, everyone agreed this was the work of Hatano and his new partner._

_Though Sakuma privately suspected the missing Rembrandt at the Petit Palais was Miyoshi’s handiwork, that wasn’t his case._

_“Casing the place?” Sakuma asked, using the same language. His French wasn’t nearly as perfect as Miyoshi’s, but it was serviceable and he was comfortable speaking it conversationally. He looked at the painting Miyoshi had been staring at so intently. Therein an orgy was depicted, the bodies of men and women captured mid-writhe and each face a grotesque rictus of pleasure. The placard identified it as belonging to Catherine the Great, and said it had been thought lost for nearly two hundred years._

_“Hardly,” Miyoshi said. Sakuma pulled his gaze away from the art with effort. There was something about the painting that drew the eye, even in its hideousness, but mere art, however compelling, couldn’t hold a candle to Miyoshi’s face, brow furrowed slightly in concentration. “Yes, now I’m sure of it. This is a forgery.”_

_“Bullshit,” Sakuma said, and immediately ducked his head at the many disapproving glares directed his way. He switched to Japanese. “You’re lying.”_

_“I’m hurt that you would think so,” Miyoshi said. He pointed, “The particular red pigment used for that sofa didn’t exist in Russia, not even by import, until the mid-nineteenth century. And it’s faint, but this work has been signed by the forger, in the open mouth of that lady being rather enthusiastically ate out.”_

_Sakuma ignored the crude language and squinted at the area in question. He thought he could just barely… “Fukumoto, that bastard.”_

_“It’s rather good. Are you familiar with the forger in question?”_

_Sakuma nodded, but chose not to elaborate. He used his head-set to notify his team that there had been another theft at an unknown previous date, and that they needed to have the painting taken down for inspection._

_D-Agency was treating every high-profile museum in the world like their own personal playgrounds, and making Interpol look like a pack of fools in the process. “Monsters,” Sakuma mumbled._

_“Pardon?”_

_“It’s nothing.”_

_Miyoshi shrugged, polite curiosity fading to disinterest, and turned back to the painting. “Do you ever wonder what a thief sees when they looked at these priceless works of art? Is it just a job to them? Or do they truly appreciate what they’re depriving the rest of the world of?” He sounded almost…sad._

_Sakuma found himself questioning whether the melancholy he saw was real or affected. It was the bitterness of not knowing that prompted him to ask, abruptly, “Why are you still doing this?” It was the first step he’d taken outside the bounds of their game in a very long time. Since before he’d realized it_ was _a game._

_Miyoshi didn’t even flinch, though he did proceed more cautiously. “I’m not sure what you mean, Sakuma-san. I’m just a tourist here to see the sights in the most romantic city on earth. Perhaps to find a bit of romance for myself.” His lips quirked, inviting Sakuma to respond with something acceptably arch._

_It was their own unique game of chicken; banter suggestive enough to tease, but never meaningful enough to satisfy. They could each only go so far and not a single step more; not without crossing a line that was as inviolable as it was invisible._

_Sakuma was tired of playing. He wanted something genuine, for once. But Miyoshi had made it clear he wasn’t about to oblige, and the sting of the rebuff hurt more than he’d expected._

_“Of course you are. My apologies. Thanks for the tip—who are you this time? Maki-san, the art dealer? Sagami-kun, the student? Or are you Maeda-sama, the heir? It’s so hard to keep track.” He turned away in disgust. His team would be arriving any minute and he needed to collect himself._

_Miyoshi grabbed his wrist, fingers like a vice. “That’s not fair. You’ve made it clear that you don’t…why are you pushing **now**?”_

_Sakuma took hold of Miyoshi’s shoulders and shook him. It was the first time they’d ever touched without an agenda on either of their part, and that realization shattered him. Made him vicious._

_“Because I had a girlfriend,” he snarled. “She was beautiful and funny and smart, and when I was going to be late or had to cancel a date she would tell me, ‘It’s alright, do your best. Better luck next time.’ She was the best woman I’ve ever met, and more than I could have ever hoped for. I was going to marry her.”_

_Miyoshi pressed his lips together and looked away. “I see. So what happened then? Did your perfect girlfriend dump you?” he asked, sneering._

_Sakuma laughed humorlessly. He bent closer so he could speak directly into Miyoshi’s ear, “She did. Because I’m an idiot. Because even when I had everything, it still wasn’t enough. Because one night I called your name while I made love to her.”_

_Miyoshi gasped and Sakuma felt him shiver where his hands still grasped. When he just stood there mutely, refusing to make eye-contact, Sakuma released him and stepped back. He hadn’t asked, but he had his answer anyway, and it ached in places he couldn’t even identify yet. “I can’t do this anymore—my judgment is compromised. I wanted to tell you in person that I won’t be chasing you after this. I’m handing over any open cases I suspect you’re involved in to another DI. Goodbye, Miyoshi.”_

_As he turned away to meet his rapidly approaching team, he thought he heard Miyoshi whisper, “You really are cruel, Detective Inspector. Au revoir,” but by the time he steeled himself to look back, Miyoshi had already vanished as though he’d never been._

{D-Agency Headquarters

Saturday, 15:02}

Sakuma looked up from his papers, annoyed, when it became clear that the hustle and bustle around the flat would not be ending any time soon.

He was going over all the details of their plan, trying to make sure they hadn’t overlooked anything, but it was difficult to concentrate when there were eight men who seemed hellbent on upsetting his work space.

“What are you doing?” He asked finally, giving up. It looked like they were setting up a game. All the furniture except the chair Sakuma was currently occupying had been rearranged, and a card table had appeared in the living area, along with a case of chips and a deck of playing cards. “You’re playing poker?” he asked with some interest. He liked the game and he was fairly good at it.

Well, they all could probably use a distraction to dispel some of the nervous energy that had been making everyone edgy.

“Not quite,” Miyoshi said mysteriously. “Players?”

After looking at one another for a moment, Miyoshi, Odagiri, Jitsui and Kaminaga took seats at the table, while the others scattered around the rest of the available seats. Kaminaga turned to address Sakuma, “Would you like to join, Sakuma-san?”

“It depends on if I get a straight answer,” he said warily.

“We call it Joker Game. Yuuki-san taught us, and Miyoshi-san, too. It’s a game about grifting.”

“Joker Game?”

Odagiri dealt the cards, while Miyoshi picked up the explanation. “The object of the game is to win, no matter the means. The people watching are spies who the players try to persuade to their side. The outsiders give signals for winning or losing hands, which the players have to interpret, and you never know who’s on whose side until the hand is called.”

“So you cheat?”

“Yes and no. Cheating is the object of the game.” Jitsui explained. “Poker is the stage, but the game itself is something different. How good are we at reading people? How good are the others at reading us? Who can be fooled and for how long? Can we persuade someone to our side if we have to?”

Sakuma didn’t get it, but he was interested despite himself. “Are the signals pre-arranged?” _Could a layman participate and pick it up in a short amount of time?_

“Of course not, where’s the fun in that?” Miyoshi asked. “Raise. You have to interpret the signals yourself. And you have to do it _subtly_. There’s a certain amount of trial and error involved, so it’s not much different from a normal poker game for the first few hands.”

Sakuma watched the game for a while. After a couple rounds he felt confident he could pick it up. “Deal me in next hand,” he decided.

It was both more and less difficult than he’d expected. The signals were easy to spot once he was on the lookout, but interpreting them—that was a whole other story. He guessed correctly about half the time, which meant he was still losing spectacularly. He supposed it might be his own lack of familiarity—he didn’t know what their relationships were beyond the superficial, and so he couldn’t guess what might cause them to be swayed. However, Miyoshi seemed to be doing alright, and he didn’t know them either. Maybe it was a criminal thing.

It was fascinating and frustrating by turns.

Amari stroked his little dog under the chin and Sakuma threw a few more chips on the table. That meant Odagiri was bluffing. Hatano cracked his knuckles and Jitsui called. He took the pot, but it was close; four Jacks to Odagiri’s four Tens. Sakuma glared at Amari as his full house lay on the table sadly.

Amari laughed. “Sorry Sakuma-san. Odagiri’s Emma-chan’s favorite.”

“If you value your life, don’t ask,” Kaminaga breathed beside him.

“Who’s Emma?” Sakuma asked.

“I warned you,” Kaminaga said as Hatano groaned and slapped his face. They were both smiling though.

Amari lit up. He shoved Kaminaga aside so he could take his seat, whipped out his phone, and began scrolling through his camera roll, which was filled with photographs of a cute, red-headed little girl that looked remarkably like him, though Amari explained she was adopted. Sakuma made the appropriate impressed noises for the first several minutes, but as they ticked by, it became clear that Amari wouldn’t be winding down any time soon.

“Oh, and here she is going to her first sleepover. They just grow up so fast, you know? I don’t know what I’m going to do when she hits puberty. I mean, I want her to be independent and self-sufficient, but I also know how dangerous the world is so it’s a mixed bag. I suppose all I can do is make sure she’s as prepared as possible. Speaking of which, here she is at her first _karate_ lesson, isn’t she just too cute in her little gi?”

As Amari continued, Sakuma reflected that this was probably the most surreal week of his life. He’d lost his job, his integrity, and most of his dignity; he’d been nearly killed in an explosion, then accused of _causing_ said explosion, and had born witness to some of the worst—well, he wasn’t thinking about that. It had been a hellish week, was the point.

But there had been almost-good points too, starting with having the most fun he could remember in years, even if it was edged in guilt. He looked up from Amari’s phone and found Miyoshi watching him with an indulgent smile, face propped on his hand. Jitsui spoke to him quietly and he turned away to answer. And there was that, too. Miyoshi and possibilities he’d never been able to consider before.

They’d all needed this time to unwind, he realized. The riskiest and most unpleasant part of their plan would commence later that very night, and it was good that they had found a way to purge their nervous tension beforehand.

“Come on Amari, can’t you brag about your kid _later_? We’re in the middle of a game here,” Hatano whined.

 _Later_ , Sakuma thought, _as in after the job is finished._ The idea that he might willingly associate with these people when circumstances no longer forced him to do so was not as inconceivable as it might once have been.

He had a lot to think about, when this was all over.

 

 

{A Love Hotel

Shinjuku, 2-chome

21:00}

Once Tazaki had confirmed that the name of the club Oikawa had written down actually was his usual weekend haunt, it had been a matter of practicality to rent a room at a nearby love hotel. With eight grown men coming and going from a parked van, it would have been difficult—if not impossible—to keep a low profile amidst 2-chome’s lively Saturday night crowd.

Convenient or not, being in such a place with this bunch of heathens was tough on Sakuma’s poor nerves.

“Hey, do you think they clean these things after every guest?” Hatano asked, holding up two absurdly proportioned dildos in each hand, which he’d apparently scavenged from the nightstand.

“Stop touching the used sex-toys,” Jitsui ordered, from where he was assisting Tazaki in setting up a portable work station. “You have a perfectly good box of them at home.”

Sakuma pinched the bridge of his nose. Exactly _how_ were none of the others bothered by this?

“But I don’t have one of _these_ ,” Hatano countered slyly, and if his tone of voice hadn’t already made Sakuma one hundred percent certain he did not want to know what ‘one of these’ was, Jitsui’s speculative expression absolutely did.

“Okay,” Sakuma said loudly, “Hatano and Fukumoto, you have the first patrol. Keep close to the club, but don’t loiter. _Agate_ caters to affluent clientele with somewhat unconventional tastes—”

“Just say it’s a crossdressing bar,” Miyoshi said with a breathy laugh, and once again Sakuma lamented the lack of a proper head-set. Nothing good could come from having Miyoshi in his head, even if it was just his voice.

“—so don’t do anything that might draw suspicion from the patrons or the staff,” he finished, choosing to ignore the aside.

Hatano gave a sardonic salute, while Fukumoto merely nodded. Hatano was… ‘sparkly’ was one word that came to mind. ‘Skimpy’ was another. Though not conventionally subtle, he’d blend in well with the younger crowd. As for Fukumoto, he wouldn’t draw a second glance in his dark suit and large-framed glasses; just your average closeted salaryman looking for entertainment.

There was more than one type of invisible, and each agency member had perfected the techniques that worked best for them. It was very impressive.

Kaminaga’s phone chimed. “It’s Odagiri,” he said. “We have incoming.”

“You heard that, Miyoshi?”

“I did,” he murmured. “I’m ready.”

“Break a leg,” Sakuma responded with a smile.

Hatano and Fukumoto left the room. Ideally, Miyoshi’s meeting with Oikawa would be brief enough that they wouldn’t need another patrol, but Amari and Kaminaga were on standby, just in case. They didn’t want Hatano or Fukumoto hanging around long enough to become familiar to anyone.

The one wrench in the works was that _Agate_ didn’t have any cameras on the premises for Tazaki to tap into, ostensibly to preserve their patrons’ privacy. They’d have to rely on audio cues alone, and while that had been fine for the Takai meeting, there were quite a few more variables in this setting.

When Oikawa arrived, the first several moments were taken up by greetings, drink orders, and superficial small talk.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal, Oikawa-san?” Miyoshi asked, cutting to the chase.

“Hmm. As interesting as it is, I’m still not convinced it would be a sound investment for my company.”

“I see.” Abruptly, Miyoshi switched gears. “I’m surprised that a man of your station would come to an establishment such as this so openly. Are you not concerned about negative publicity?”

Oikawa laughed loudly. “If that’s supposed to be a threat, it’s a bit poorly aimed, Gamou-san. My proclivities are well known to those who matter. It’s not an issue.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I wasn’t threatening you; I was merely curious. This country can be a bit backward when it comes to such things, and an openly gay man who’s reached heights such as yours is to be admired.”

“How kind of you to say so, Gamou-san. Flattery will get you everywhere, you know. Speaking of our shared interests, how do you like my _Agate_? It’s magnificent, yes?”

“I confess I’ve been wanting to come, but my work keeps me busy and it’s just never been the right time. It’s…perfectly fine.” Miyoshi said with just the right inflection of forced enthusiasm. He probably didn’t have to fake it all that much, which only made it more convincing.

“What do you mean?” Oikawa asked curiously. “Is the entertainment not to your tastes? Perhaps you’d prefer sculpted Adonises prancing around half naked with their oiled muscles and suggestive bulges?”

Sakuma choked so hard Kaminaga thwacked him a few times on the back.

“Hardly,” Miyoshi said dryly. “Quite the opposite actually. My tastes run a bit _greener_ , if you take my meaning.”

Oikawa stayed quiet for a while—long enough to make them uneasy. This was the most sensitive and dangerous act in their little play, and it had come sooner than Sakuma had anticipated. Miyoshi was good at reading people, but even he could miss the mark, or push too hard too soon, sometimes.

“I think I do, Gamou-san,” he finally said, low and just edging on sly. “You agree the taste is so much sharper when they’re a bit… _unripe_?”

“Indeed,” Miyoshi said with a sigh. He dropped his voice even lower, in the tone of a confession. “I have one at home, I raised from just a tiny thing. He’s so obedient he won’t even _eat_ without my permission; I have to phone him a few times a day to give it.”

“Oh, how lovely for you.” The naked envy in Oikawa’s voice made Sakuma shudder with disgust.

“Yes, or I suppose it was. He’s nearing his expiration date, I’m afraid. I find there’s so much more _pleasure_ in the journey, than in the destination, if you take my meaning. Perfect obedience can be rather dull. But I haven’t found another to replace him yet. It’s proving frustratingly difficult with how stuffy this city has become.”

Oikawa adopted a commiserating tone that did little to hide his gloating. “I understand your distress. I had to go all the way to China to find my own pet. He’s quite lovely.”

“Ah well, if it’s beauty, mine certainly won’t lose,” Miyoshi said, with just a hint of pride. “See?”

“Oh…” Oikawa trailed off. He cleared his throat a few moments later. “I like you, Gamou-san,” he said abruptly. “I can put you in touch with people who deal in such merchandise. Of the very highest quality, I assure you.”

“How generous,” Miyoshi said, surprised. “That would indeed make my search easier. Do they take trades?”

“There won’t be any need for that, because I’d like to buy him from you outright. Name a price.”

“Looks like you’ve got an admirer, Jitsui,” Tazaki commented. Jitsui made a noncommittal sound in his throat, seemingly unperturbed. Wherever he was, Hatano was swearing a blue streak, however. It appeared Jitsui was not the only protective one in their relationship.

Miyoshi seemed faintly surprised himself, though it was hard to tell if it was affected or genuine. “Oh really? What about your lovely Chinese pet?”

“You needn’t concern yourself. Please, Gamou-san, I simply must have him!”

“Hmm. Do you desire him enough to accept my proposal?”

A shocked silence followed. “Gamou-san, that is business. _My_ business.”

“And so is this. If you’ve read the plan, you know Takai stands to make _billions_ on this project. Accept it, pitch it to your shareholders, and I’ll throw in Shou-chan as a bonus. When we succeed, I’ll be rich enough to buy any dozen pretty boys.”

“And what of my prospects for Shou-chan if my shareholders pass?”

“In that case, I’m sure we can work out some other arrangement; but I don’t think they will.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve manipulated this meeting from the very beginning?” Oikawa was still mostly amused, but there was the faint undertone of suspicion.

“Me, manipulate one who has been generous enough to lend me a listening and sympathetic ear? Certainly not,” Miyoshi said, just on the right side of coy. “I simply know what I’m worth—and what my lovely, _talented_ little Shou-chan is worth.”

“Of course. Alright you sly devil. It’s a deal; I’ll speak to the shareholders on your behalf on Monday. But I want to see my prospective new property beforehand. In person.”

“Hmm. Would tomorrow work for you?”

“That will do. Shall we trade contact information?”

Miyoshi consented and they did so, after which Oikawa took his leave.

No one said anything over the frequency for a very long time.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Fukumoto said softly. “I realize we’re all brooding internally at the moment, but I think you should know that Oikawa’s being followed. A dark, non-descript sedan has been in the same place since I arrived on the street and only pulled out once Oikawa got into his car and drove away. No one entered or exited it in that time, so I can only assume it’s a stakeout of some kind.”

“Probably the same people who have his office bugged,” Sakuma said. Those present nodded. It was as safe a bet as any.

“What a disgusting pig,” Amari said, low and savage. “I knew but…he’s _sick_. He talks about them like they’re…like they’re not even people.”

“To him they’re not,” Sakuma agreed. He wanted to tell them about his friend back at Interpol, the one who lead the human trafficking division. How sometimes he’d drink just so that he didn’t have to see the faces of the victims he worked with in his dreams. How Sakuma had done his job because he loved it, but his friend had done his job because he wouldn’t be able to face himself if he didn’t.

When this was finished he needed to give Alain a call and make sure he was well, but for now he had other things to deal with. “Miyoshi, are you alright?” he asked gently. Silence. He looked at Tazaki, who shook his head. “The mic’s still active. Maybe he took it out?”

“Everyone head back to your base. I’ll go find Miyoshi. Any word from Odagiri yet?”

“Delivering the package as we speak,” Jitsui confirmed.

“Do you want one of us to go with you?” Kaminaga asked.

“No, that’s alright. We’ll meet you back there in a while.”

“Be careful, Bear-san. Don’t get caught.” Hatano said through the earbud.

Sakuma smiled. “I will. Won’t? Whatever.”

It was freezing outside, and Sakuma zipped his coat as he took off in the direction of _Agate_.

He found Miyoshi propped against the wall of a convenience store, cigarette held loosely between two slim fingers. As he exhaled a blue stream into the cold air, Sakuma reflected that of course Miyoshi could even make something as simple as smoking a cigarette look elegant.

“That’s a bad habit, you know,” he said as he propped his back against the wall a few centimeters away. If either of them moved a little they’d touch.

“Does it bother you?” Miyoshi didn’t seem overly concerned as he took another deep pull.

“Not at all. Do you have another?”

Miyoshi raised his eyebrows, but left the cigarette in his mouth as he dug in the pockets of his coat. Sakuma took the pack and shook out a stick for himself, before handing it back. He rooted around absently in his own pockets for a moment before remembering that he hadn’t carried a lighter with him in months.

A flame appeared in front of his face, startling him. After a moment, he covered the flame—and Miyoshi’s hand—and guided it to the tip of his cigarette. “Thanks,” he said as he backed off. The second drag was always better than the first, and he savored it. Ah, sweet, sweet nicotine.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I’ve been quit for a while.”

The corner of Miyoshi’s lips turned up ever so faintly. “Me too. I even have to settle for this rubbish, since it’s hard to find my favorite brand here at home.”

Sakuma answered the smile with a snicker. “This _is_ my brand,” he admitted.

“Of course it is.” Miyoshi snorted, a sound so incongruous to his veneer of posh civility that Sakuma huffed out a laugh in response. Soon, they had both devolved into helpless giggling. It was just too ridiculous, a professional criminal and a fugitive ex-Interpol agent laughing outside a convenience store like idiots.

Sakuma recovered before Miyoshi did, and smiled down at him as he continued to convulse, bent slightly at the waist. He finally took a deep, gasping breath and let it shudder out of him, the merriment going with it. He sagged back against the wall and stared up at the sky.

“I provoked him and wound him up—outmaneuvered him and I’m sure that frustrated someone like him. And now he’s going to go back to that prison of a flat and take it out on that poor boy.”

“He won’t. Odagiri’s taking care of that as we speak.”

“That’s something, then,” Miyoshi said hollowly.

Sakuma hesitated for a moment, then reached out and pulled Miyoshi to him by his neck. He didn’t even put up a perfunctory resistance, but pressed close, burying his face in Sakuma’s throat. “I feel dirty,” Miyoshi muttered into his collar after a moment. “Gamou Jirou is a filthy animal who deserves to be shot in the street along with Oikawa Masayuki.”

Sakuma rubbed comforting circles on his back, somewhat at a loss. “The best grifters can fool anyone, even themselves, and you’re the best of the best. You did what you had to do for the job and you did it well.”

“I know you mean that as a compliment, and normally I’d be ecstatic at such high praise from you, but right now it doesn’t really make me feel any better.”

“What would make you feel better?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Miyoshi turned his head so it was resting on Sakuma’s shoulder, seeming perfectly content to stay in the circle of his arms indefinitely. Sakuma couldn’t say he objected. “A long, hot shower and one of those inane American romantic comedies might be a start.”

Sakuma grimaced. “You actually like those things?”

“Unironically. They’re my favorite guilty pleasure.”

“For someone with so _many_ guilty pleasures, that’s saying something.”

Miyoshi didn’t retaliate verbally, but he did slide a cold hand under Sakuma’s coat to pinch him sharply on the hip. “We should go back,” he said reluctantly, a short while later.

Sakuma nodded and took a final deep breath of _Miyoshi_ , before stepping back.

“Actually, that might not be such a good idea,” Tazaki said. Sakuma startled so badly he reared his head back and slammed it into the wall.

“Goddammit Tazaki,” he growled. “Have you been listening the whole time?”

“You didn’t take your earbud out,” Miyoshi said flatly. “You’re an idiot, Sakuma-san.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Tazaki said, not meaning it in the least.

“I didn’t know you were so romantic, Bear-san,” Hatano teased.

Amari interjected with, “Tell Miyoshi-san I have a bootlegged copy of ‘ _Touch and Go’_ I can lend him.”

“ _Why_ shouldn’t we come back to the flat?” Sakuma asked, ignoring the various playful jibes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“The cops got their panties in a twist again and they’re doing a raid on the club,” Kaminaga said, bored.

“ _What_? Was I seen? Are they looking for me?”

“Not as far as I can tell,” Tazaki said. “Just a random raid.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Sakuma said grimly.

“Nevertheless, they do exist. Just as a precaution, we think you should lay low for the night, though.”

“These raids are jokes, Bear-san. They’ve never even _found_ the flat, the incompetent morons.”

“You should clean house, just in case,” Sakuma said. “All it would take is one lucky turn.”

“Yeah, yeah. You sound like Yuuki-san,” Hatano grumbled.

“Will you be alright, Sakuma-san?” Amari asked. “There’s a safe-house—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Miyoshi interrupted. Sakuma hadn’t noticed him putting the earbud back in, but he obviously had at some point. “There’s a perfectly good hotel room right here, already paid for and everything. We’ll spend the night there and meet back with you in the morning, provided the danger has passed,” he said, holding Sakuma’s gaze the entire time.

Sakuma swallowed thickly, unable to look away, heart pounding. Him, spending the night in a love hotel with _Miyoshi_? Alone? And awake this time? He could think of few things more dangerous. Or more tempting.

Someone on the other end of the frequency whistled, and Sakuma felt his face heat up. Miyoshi removed his earbud, then reached up to do the same to Sakuma’s, stuffing them both into the pocket of his coat. “I don’t think we’ll be needing these tonight. Shall we?”

The hand Miyoshi offered was warm, even through the gloves he wore. It looked small against Sakuma’s massive paw, but he knew for a fact that these hands were strong and nimble; capable of suppressing beefy security guards or tenderly twirling captivated debutantes around a dance floor. He used the grip to tug Miyoshi in close.

“I’ve wanted to do this for five years,” he admitted before leaning down and covering Miyoshi’s twitching lips with his own. The kiss was soft, almost cautious. The taste of cigarettes between them should have been off-putting, but it only augmented Miyoshi’s singular, spicy-sweet flavor. Miyoshi licked into his mouth and Sakuma shuddered.

“ _I’ve_ wanted to do this since the first time we met,” Miyoshi breathed when they pulled back for air. He was panting, flushed, and his eyes shone with what little light there was around them. He was breathtaking. Then Sakuma actually heard what he’d said.

“You _shot_ me!” Sakuma sputtered. “ _I_ shot _you!”_

Miyoshi snickered. “I know it’s crazy! But I think you must have been holding Cupid’s own pistol, because I’ve wanted to bed you ever since.”

Sakuma stepped back, putting some distance between them. Drawing in a deep breath he met Miyoshi’s eyes deliberately, and said, “Then I suppose we ought to get somewhere with a bed.”

Miyoshi’s smile was brilliant and, Sakuma felt confident in saying, one-hundred percent real.

***

The shrill ringing of the hotel phone woke Sakuma from deep sleep. Bleary and clumsy, he reached for the handset and grunted a greeting into it.

“Good morning, Sir,” a pleasant voice on the other end said. “This is your courtesy wake up call.”

“Love hotels don’t _have_ wake-up calls, Amari.” He slammed the phone back down and sat up, rubbing his face and listening to Miyoshi’s sleepy protests from behind him.

It wouldn’t hurt to let him sleep a bit longer, Sakuma decided, charitable in his smugness. They hadn’t got much of it last night after all.

After his shower, he dressed in the same clothes he’d worn yesterday, after ascertaining that there weren’t any (visible) suspicious stains. He shivered a bit in the cooler air outside the bathroom, and looked at the softly snoring lump on the bed.

At length, approached and leaned over to nuzzle into Miyoshi’s temple. “Time to wake up,” he murmured, shaking his shoulder gently. “You can’t stay in bed all day. We have work to do.”

Miyoshi opened one eye to look at him balefully. “And whose fault is it I didn’t get enough sleep, I wonder.”

Sakuma snickered. “If I recall, you weren’t exactly complaining at the time.”

Miyoshi hummed, just shy of a whine and rubbed his face in the pillows. When Sakuma heard another snore a moment later, he sighed and stood up, pulling the blankets away suddenly and letting the cold air hit Miyoshi all at once. He had to bite his lip to hide his smile at the yelp that produced.

He finished dressing as Miyoshi got up finally, muttering underneath his breath. He was surprised when he turned around and found Miyoshi dressing as well. “Aren’t you going to shower?”

Miyoshi wrinkled his nose. “I hate putting on dirty clothes after a shower. I’m going home.” He looked debauched, with his clothes only haphazardly arranged and his neck covered in bites and kiss marks.

“Miyoshi…” They needed to hammer out the finishing touches on the plan. They only had the rest of the day, after all. The shareholders’ meeting was tomorrow.

“I don’t live far,” Miyoshi said. He pulled Sakuma down by the lapels of his rumpled suit jacket and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his jaw. “I’ll see you in a couple hours back at the club.” Then he was gone, waving with his fingers as he pulled the door closed behind him.

Sakuma sat down on the edge of the bed. Frowning, he looked at the bedside table where Miyoshi must have placed the earbuds at some point last night. There were two, which meant he’d forgotten his. Sakuma would have to scold him when he gave it back later.

{D-Agency Headquarters

Sunday, 12:06}

Two hours passed, then three and Miyoshi’s phone was still going straight to voicemail. He stabbed the button to end the call and swore if Miyoshi had gone back to bed he was going to strangle that pretty neck of his.

He didn’t know where Miyoshi lived, not even which ward, only that it was ‘not far’ from 2-chome. But that could mean anywhere, including inside Shinjuku or any of the surrounding wards.

“Please tell me you have a tracking device on him,” he said tightly, looking at Tazaki, who just shrugged.

“He found it after ten minutes, and I haven’t tried since. It’s a test, you know.”

Sakuma reddened. He hadn’t found his own for about an hour after leaving the internet café from the first job.

“Don’t worry, Sakuma-san,” Hatano said, condescension oozing from every word as he patted Sakuma’s shoulder, “We gave you a half-hour handicap, so really you did pretty well.”

Sakuma swatted at him and he danced out of the way, laughing. Sakuma looked back down at his phone, annoyance fading back into worry. He knew he shouldn’t be; that Miyoshi was probably fine and he was being paranoid. No one had any reason to connect Miyoshi to him and vice-versa.

_“We have no way of knowing who he would know on sight.”_

Sakuma stilled as he remembered what he’d said that first night after the bomb. At the time, he hadn’t known Miyoshi was connected to Yuuki in any way, but what if Oikawa _did_? It hadn’t seemed likely, but Oikawa had already proven he had access to information that even Interpol didn’t. How much of a stretch was it to think he’d know about Yuuki’s son?

Sakuma jumped when his phone began buzzing in his hand and he went dizzy with relief when he saw the prominent “M” on the screen above the green and red buttons. He hit ‘Accept’ and said “Miyoshi…” unable to gather his early ire enough to begin yelling right away.

A pause. “Hello, Sakuma-san.”

All the blood in Sakuma’s veins turned to ice. It was the wrong voice on the other end of the line, purring his name like that. However, he was a veteran of law-enforcement, and even in times of high stress, one had to keep a cool head. He snapped his fingers at Tazaki and hoped he understood he was to perform a trace immediately.

“‘Miyoshi’ is it? Do you know you’re in his contacts as ‘Lover’? How trite. I guess he prefers sculpted Adonises after all.”

“What do you want, Oikawa?” Sakuma ground out.

“Now now, Sakuma-san. No need to be so hostile. Gamou—Miyoshi, rather—and I have a bit of unfinished business. I realize Shou-chan probably doesn’t exist, but in that case, do you think you could return to me my own property?”

Property. The boy Odagiri had bundled off the night before and stowed at a safe house so he’d be out of Oikawa’s reach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly.

“That _is_ a shame, former-Detective Inspector. If you won’t give me my toy, why should I give you yours? Although he is a bit banged up now—sorry about that. I have a temper, you see. And I fear if you continue with this stubbornness I’ll have to start taking him apart piece by piece.”

Sakuma swallowed. Oikawa was a psychopath and a sadist. “I want proof of life.” He managed to keep his voice steady, though he didn’t know how.

Oikawa hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose I can do that.” There was silence on the other end for a moment, then muffled noises he struggled to make out.

“Sakuma-san?” Miyoshi’s voice was wobbly with pain, but he seemed coherent. Not drugged, but restrained then. That was something.

“Miyoshi, I—”

“Of course I’m hurt, Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi interrupted, voice nearly petulant. Sakuma nearly smiled in spite of himself. “And cold and hungry even though I can _smell_ kaarage. If you hadn’t woke me up I’d _still_ be _safe_ in bed.” The words stabbed into him even as he listened attentively, both to the words and the background noises he could hear.

“I think that’s enough,” Oikawa said. His voice turned vicious. “I want my property returned to my home in one hour, or I’m going to start with his fingers. One for every ten minutes you’re late. Then I’ll move onto his toes. Do hurry, Sakuma-san. I’m becoming rather impatient.”

The line went dead. He’d been on the phone less than two minutes—not long enough for a trace, as Tazaki confirmed with a regretful shake of his head.

Sakuma closed his eyes and bent his head.

*

Oikawa Masayuki was not a violent man, per se. In fact, most who knew him would describe him as exceedingly kind. A philanthropist, even.

It was just that if he’d bought something he considered it his prerogative to treat it however he liked. If he wanted to break it, well, wasn’t it _his_ to break? And wouldn’t anyone become violent when they were threatened? He kicked the unmoving body on the floor again for good measure, in the already bruised ribs and reveled in the cry of pain that tore from him.

He’d thought, for a moment, that he’d found a kindred spirit. He’d been so very disappointed when he learned Gamou Jirou didn’t exist; perhaps even more disappointed than when he’d arrived at his second home and found his toy missing.

It had been a very expensive toy, and he wanted it returned immediately. And so he’d asked a subordinate to snoop, and they’d brought him pictures of Gamou leaving a love hotel and that bastard Sakuma following several moments later. Too great a coincidence, he thought.

So he’d had his employees pick Gamou up and bring him in for a chat. It was just that when Gamou had refused to speak, Masayuki had lost his temper a bit, and the next thing he knew, Gamou was gasping on the floor, coughing and vomiting as he clutched his abdomen.

His phone had fallen out of his pocket then, and Masayuki picked it up curiously, scrolling through various cryptic monikers until he got to the one that had “koibito” spelled out in romaji.

He looked at his watch. The hour was almost up. He sighed. Honestly, if Sakuma and those beasts from D-Agency had just _died_ like they were supposed to, none of this would have happened.

His phone rang just as his watch beeped and he turned to request one of his men bring a knife. Of course he wouldn’t be doing the amputating himself—he couldn’t very well get blood on his suit. It was a _Hermes_ , after all.

“Yes?”

“I have the boy.” It was one of the men he’d left at his house to collect his toy.

“Send me a photograph. Then kill them.” He refused to be tricked by these base criminals.

A moment later he received the image, and delighted in the fear shining from those bright eyes that had ensnared him the first time he’d seen the boy, starved and shivering on a black market auction block in Shanghai.

He’d nearly outlived his service, but that didn’t mean Masayuki wanted someone _else_ to take him away. Telling them he was finished with them, giving them hope…then watching their pretty, scared faces as he strangled the life out of them was the best part of owning them.

He shivered with anticipation. Soon. Perhaps tomorrow, after the shareholders’ meeting.

Well, he had his property back, in any case. He raised his hand to call over one of his men, so he could dispose of this ‘Miyoshi.’ He had no doubt that he would get the rest of his enemies in good time, but this trickster was a start, in any case. Miyoshi moved, revealing a long, slender neck and Masayuki stopped. And smiled. He’d never had the chance to do it twice so close together.

He kicked Miyoshi onto his back and straddled him, abandoning all thoughts of his clothes in his excitement. Miyoshi’s head lolled, eyes slitted with pain. Masayuki reached for his throat and _squeezed_ until he could see the whites of those wine-colored eyes. They really were quite beautiful. It was a shame the body they belonged to was so mature.

 _BANG_!

He felt the bullet graze him, opening a line of white-hot fire over his cheek before he even heard the gun go off. He looked up, hands going slack as Miyoshi turned over under him, coughing and heaving.

“Sakuma-san?” It couldn’t be. But it was.

“Get away from him.” Sakuma’s voice was cold, and his eyes were colder, trained on Masayuki. As was his handgun.

“How did you find us?” Looking around now, he couldn’t see a single one of his men, even though he’d had three in the room with him a few moments before.

“Get. Away. From. Him.”

Masayuki did, slowly, keeping his hands visible. He could hear sirens in the distance, getting closer by the second. This was _impossible_! He’d been so careful!

Sakuma eyed him, but most of his attention seemed to be on Miyoshi. He knelt down and sat him up, going to work on the ropes knotted around his wrists. He didn’t seem overly worried about Masayuki escaping, which meant he’d brought others and they had probably incapacitated his men in some way.

“Did you know,” Sakuma began conversationally, “That Interpol has you on a watch list?”

Masayuki startled. That was impossible. He had sources inside Interpol that would have told him so he could lie low and tie up any incriminating loose ends.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Alain Lernier? He runs the cleanest taskforce of the Human Trafficking Division in the whole organization. Handpicks everyone who works with him, and there’s never been a single leak or evidence of sabotage. He got a suspicious picture of you in Shanghai about six months ago and has been breathing down your neck ever since. All very quietly and off-the-record of course.”

Masayuki swallowed with difficulty. “You’re lying,” he croaked.

“I’m not. You’re a small man, Oikawa. Too caught up in your own imagined power to see your own mistakes. You let me speak with Miyoshi for too long. All I had to do was find a kaarage restaurant near an abandoned bank in 2-chome. He left enough clues to tell me that much. And you’re the one who gave me the picture of Hatano. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the resemblance to the boy you bought.” His phone rang on queue, and Masayuki could tell by his triumphant smile that the news wasn’t good for him.

He was finished. There was enough evidence in his flat and office to convict him ten times over. His hands were shaking. How had everything gone so wrong?

It was these _pests_. These _fleas_ who thought they could ruin him with no consequences. Unacceptable.

Sakuma was entirely focused on Miyoshi by then, rubbing soothing circles on his back and checking him for injuries. He didn’t see Masayuki pull the gun from under his suit, but Miyoshi did, and managed to choke out a warning.

It was too late. He fired and watched with satisfaction as Sakuma jerked and pitched forward.

Then intense, unbelievable pain in his hand and he looked down at where his middle finger was missing from the second knuckle up and passed out in a dead faint.

*

Sakuma felt the bullet rip through him, but it was a few seconds before the pain caught up and he looked down.

Huh. It seemed he’d have a matching hole in his other shoulder. Or was it his chest?

“I hate getting shot,” he said, embarrassed by how faint he sounded. The wound was bleeding like a bitch.

Miyoshi snorted as he put the gun down and helped him lie back on the floor. He shrugged off his jacket, folding it up and pressing it hard on Sakuma’s wound, blatantly ignoring him when he protested the rough treatment.

“You have good aim, even after everything that just happened. That’s kind of scary.”

“I was playing it up a little,” Miyoshi croaked through his abused larynx.

“Liar,” Sakuma laughed then hissed. Okay, no laughing. That fucking hurt.

“Sakuma-san!” Kaminaga and Amari came running, skidding to a stop beside them, staring down in horror.

He guessed he looked pretty bad then.

“Go wait for the ambulance and tell them where we are,” Miyoshi said, voice calm but sharp.

“But—”

“Go!” They both took off.

“I don’t think I’m going to be conscious much longer,” Sakuma said, strained. His vision was starting to go black around the edges and his teeth were chattering. He was going into shock.

Miyoshi ran shaking fingers through Sakuma’s hair and smiled. “That’s okay. I hear shouting upstairs. I think the paramedics are here.”

He reached up and patted that hand awkwardly, before holding it and squeezing. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Then the encroaching darkness took him.

{Seibo Hospital

Shinjuku

Tuesday, 15:54}

He woke up in the hospital, of course. He heard the steady beeping long before he felt up to open his eyes. Taking stock of his body, he felt a dull pain in his chest but nothing unbearable. He had an IV and a few ledes stuck to him but not many. That was good. In his experience the more machines one was hooked up to the worse of they were.

“You’re an absolute bastard, do you know that?” someone said in sharp, furious French and Sakuma tensed.

“Ow,” he said. “Alain?” He raised his head, then scrambled for the remote that must be somewhere nearby. He didn’t find it, but a moment later the top of the bed began to rise. It stopped when he was still half-reclined but he could see Alain now, scowling at him from a chair beside his bed and holding the attached remote.

“I swear to _God_ , if you weren’t in that hospital bed I’d punch you in the face. I go to China for _two weeks_ , come back and you’ve been sacked, become a fugitive, and _almost die_. What the fuck, Sakuma? Have you lost your mind?”

Sakuma reached up to rub his eyes. He was exhausted. Wasn’t that ‘almost dying’ part supposed to get him a pass on people yelling at him for a while? “I don’t know. Maybe?”

Alain looked to be gearing up to continue his tirade, but just then the door opened and Miyoshi walked in carrying a huge stuffed animal and a bouquet of flowers. His eyes went wide when he realized someone else was there, looking between the two of them.

“Should I…?” he said, motioning out the door.

“No!” Sakuma almost yelled. He was not above begging at this point if it would get Alain off his case for a few moments. “Please.”

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Miyoshi said with a smile. He didn’t seem to know how to address the tension in the room so he did what any polite Japanese person would do: he ignored it. “The doctors say the bullet missed anything vital, though they had to do surgery to remove it. You should make a full recovery. Oh, and here. From…mutual friends.”

Sakuma snorted when he saw that the plushy was, of course, a teddy bear. He had Miyoshi sit it in a chair. Then Miyoshi began fussing over him, adjusting his pillows and asking him if he wanted or needed anything. It was surreal.

Alain, apparently growing bored of watching them chat, cleared his throat meaningfully. He gave Miyoshi a suspicious look, but continued in French, probably assuming Miyoshi didn’t speak it. “Why didn’t you call me? Do you know I had to find out from Wolfe, that _insufferable asshole_ that you’d been let go and _why_ , and do you know how embarrassing that was when I’m supposed to be your friend? What on this earth were you _thinking_ , you obstinate son of a bitch?”

“Alain,” he said, slightly strangled, “This isn’t the best time for this discussion. I’d like to introduce you to _Miyoshi_ ,” he said pointedly, hoping desperately that Alain would take the hint before he could say something Sakuma wasn’t ready for Miyoshi to know.

The plan backfired. Spectacularly.

“Miyoshi?” Alain said blankly. Sakuma went on before he could gather his wits.

“Miyoshi, this is Detective Inspector Alain Lernier. He’s the contact I had Taz—I had the information about the hard drive sent to. Human Trafficking and Child Pornography is his division.”

Miyoshi raised an eyebrow, but stepped forward politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Inspector.”

“Miyoshi?” Alain repeated, stunned. “This is _the_ Miyoshi?”

Sakuma massaged his eyelids with his hand. This was _already_ a disaster. There was no way Miyoshi was letting this go now. Never put a ‘the’ in front of a narcissists name.

“Indeed,” Miyoshi said in his perfect French. “Although I’m at a disadvantage. You seem to know much more about me than I do about you.”

Alain finally shook off his shock and his expression turned thunderous as he raised a shaking hand to point a finger directly in Miyoshi’s face. “You’re the reason Sakuma got sacked!” he yelled.

“Excuse me?” Miyoshi said, eyes widening as he turned to stare at Sakuma.

“Alain,” Sakuma said softly. Their eyes met, his begging his ex-colleague; his _friend_ not to do this.

“This asshole,” Alain said, looking away stubbornly, even as he gestured expansively at him, “had all the evidence he needed to lock you up for good. You fucked up on your last job, darling. The one in Prague, I’m sure you remember. You left a hair behind, a perfect sample. He was ordered to Japan to take you into custody and test for a match. But do you know what this bastard did instead? _He ‘lost’ the hair_.”

“Goddammit, Alain.” His hands clenched into fists in the thin hospital blanket.

“It cost him his job, of course. Luckily not his freedom as well, because tampering with evidence is a serious crime. All because he couldn’t bear the thought of arresting you.”

“That’s _enough_!” Sakuma shouted, breath coming faster as the monitors he was hooked up to went crazy. A nurse rushed in, shooing the two of them out of the way as she checked his ledes and the equipment. When she was done and the monitors returned to their steady cadence, she gave Miyoshi and Alain a pointed look.

“No more excitement or I’ll have you removed, understood?” she said. Alain, who didn’t now Japanese, looked blank, but Miyoshi agreed quickly and she left with a a final glare at them.

“I don’t know what kind of game you two have been playing with each other,” Alain said, voice low and angry. “But it’s time to end it, yeah?”

“It’s ended,” Sakuma said, helpless. He looked at Miyoshi but he wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Alain looked at them suspiciously. Then he gave a smart nod, and smiled, his usual affability returning so quickly it gave Sakuma whiplash. “Good then. I’m glad you’re alive.”

Sakuma smiled. Alain’s mood swings were scary but he was a genuinely good person and a good friend. “Thanks. Keep in touch. Now go build an airtight case against Oikawa.”

Alain gave him a cheerful thumbs-up and departed. The silence he left behind was deafening.

Sakuma couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Miyoshi, so it was a total surprise when he felt Miyoshi climb on the bed and straddle his hips. He looked up, when Miyoshi couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to smirk or grin.

“So. You got sacked because of _me_?”

 _Damn narcissist,_ Sakuma thought, helplessly fond. Nevertheless, he couldn’t let it go. “No,” he sighed, hands raising of their own accord to rest on Miyoshi’s hips. The bruises he could see on Miyoshi’s neck, purple and green around the edges made him wince. He reached up to brush his fingers over them. It made the wound on his chest twinge, but whatever painkillers they had him on must have been very good. “I got sacked because of me. I’m…weak. In many ways.” _In one way in particular_ , he thought, but couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

“I’m your weakness.” Miyoshi sounded sure. Sakuma nodded anyway.

Miyoshi sagged. “Thank goodness it wasn’t only me,” he said. He lowered himself down on the side opposite the wound and rested his head on Sakuma’s shoulder. The shoulder he’d shot ten years ago in a Cairo museum. “Sometimes I wondered, you know. You never really acted like my flirting affected you.”

“I flirted _back_!” Sakuma said, outraged.

“And then you said what you said in the Louvre and I’d been waiting _so long_. I thought it might take a while for you to get the hint but you never showed up.”

“I watched your plays sometimes,” Sakuma said, feeling his face heat up. “Whenever I came back to visit my parents or had business in Japan, I’d make a point to find out where you were working and come see.” He’d never sought him out outside the theaters though. Too afraid, both of not getting what he wanted and of getting it and not being able to have it.

“We’re both stupid,” Miyoshi declared, pinching his hip. Sakuma pinched him back.

“We’re both free agents now,” Sakuma ventured.

“Thanks to you. Do you regret it?”

Sakuma picked up Miyoshi’s hand and pressed his lips lightly to the pulse point, feeling the heartbeat flutter against his lips. “I’ve never regretted anything less.”

Miyoshi kissed him. After everything they’d already done, all their history, it should have felt absurd to share a kiss so chaste and sweet, but it didn’t. It felt like the beginning that comes after the end.

 

*

Miyoshi insisted Sakuma convalesce at his place and Sakuma was too tired to argue. He didn’t really relish the idea of spending his recovery in some hotel room anyway.

He should have known Miyoshi’s ‘place’ would end up being the penthouse of a goddamn skyscraper. It had a private elevator, and an absolutely spectacular view.

At least he though it probably did, knowing Miyoshi. He couldn’t really see through the eight people blocking it.

Somehow he wasn’t surprised to see Yuuki standing there in the flesh, leaning a bit forward on his cane, with the rest of D-Agency fanned out behind him.

Miyoshi ignored them, setting down Sakuma’s suitcase inside the door and kicking off his shoes, acting completely unbothered. The tension in his shoulders told a different story.

Sakuma wondered what the etiquette was for a former international law enforcement agent meeting the criminal mastermind parent of the former criminal he was…seeing? Courting?

“Sakuma-san, please reign in your rising hysteria,” Miyoshi said, touching his elbow lightly and pushing past him. “It’s not good for your recovery. So, what do you want now? And make it quick will you? I have things to see and people to do. Eventually, when they recover.”

Sakuma was having a stroke, he was sure of it.

Yuuki sighed. “I don’t know where you got this crass streak. What kind of company have you been keeping?”

“The kind you wouldn’t approve of in the least, of course. I’m still waiting on your reason for invading my flat, by the way.”

“I’m here to see Sakuma, actually.”

Miyoshi stiffened, eyes narrowed on his father. “You wouldn’t,” he said, dangerously low.

“I’d like to offer you a job.” He directed this statement directly at Sakuma, who couldn’t seem to move a single muscle in his body for some reason. As though he were some mythical basilisk, Yuuki’s ruthless, unwavering gaze had frozen him in place.

Yuuki was undoubtedly intimidating. Both his charisma and his reputation were weapons he wielded to devastating effect. And yet…after all, he was still just a man, and Sakuma could see his game clearly if he just took a second to think about it calmly.

Spell broken, he slumped a little, and stuck his hands in his pockets. He was suddenly glad he’d insisted on wearing one of his suits. He’d have felt naked in anything else. “No,” he said casually. “I’m not a criminal and I don’t have any interest in becoming one for you.” _And I’m not letting you use me to bring Miyoshi to heel._

Yuuki stared at him for a moment. Then he tapped his cane twice, sharply. “What kind of man refuses to hear out his elders?” he said, suddenly irate in an affected way that Sakuma didn’t buy for a second. The words were harsh, but the tone was very nearly…jovial. “I don’t want you to work for me,” Yuuki said. “I’d kill you out of frustration after three days, so no. I’m offering you _my_ job. And with that you can take on all the foolishly soft-hearted charity cases you’d like. I’m afraid you’ve given my boys a taste for it and they’re all but useless to me now. Club Youko, as well as our personal investments have made D-Agency a self-sustaining operation. Do as you like with it.”

“Why?”

It wasn’t Sakuma who asked (though he’d been about to), but Miyoshi. His fists were clenched at his sides and he was staring at Yuuki intently. Yuuki merely stared back.

“I’m retiring,” he said finally. “I’m old and tired. And I want my foolish son to be happy, even if that must be without me.”

“You manipulative son of a bitch,” Miyoshi choked, sounding unbearably raw. “You overplayed your hand. My old man would never say something so sappy.”

Yuuki sighed. “Still not, ‘dad.’”

“And the rest of you are okay with this?” Sakuma asked, scarcely believing that could possibly be the case. They’d been far more integral to the success of their plan than Sakuma had been. Aside from bringing Miyoshi, he’d hardly done anything. Surely one of them was more suited to be Yuuki’s successor?

“They’d all run amok and bring about the apocalypse left to their own devices,” Yuuki said, apparently reading his thoughts. He and Miyoshi had that in common. “They need stability more than additional intelligence. A good thing, since you’re an idiot.”

Sakuma laughed. “I guess I am, since I’m actually considering this. I’d still like to hear it from them. _Are_ you all fine with me?” None of them would look at him. Even Hatano averted his gaze, and Sakuma sighed. If they didn’t trust him and weren’t willing, this would end in disaster. He opened his mouth to, regretfully this time, decline again, when he was interrupted by an unexpected source.

“Yes,” Odagiri said, stepping forward. “We returned the designs to the proper owners while you were in the hospital. We also delivered the boy to the proper authorities. It was—It felt…” he seemed to struggle for words, “…good. To help.”

Hatano rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “We’re fine with it, Bear-san,” He shrugged. “You’re pretty fun. And you earned our respect.” He bit his lip, unusually uncertain. “But we don't know if we're going to be any good at this sort of thing. Are _you_ really fine with _us_?”

“Every single one of you are a pain in my ass,” Sakuma answered immediately. He smirked. Hadn’t he thought so before? They were _his_ thieves. And it turned out he wouldn’t have to give them up after all.

Sakuma looked at Miyoshi, who looked back, eyebrow arched in question. “What about you. Are you in?” _I can’t do it without you_ , he tried to say with his face alone.

Miyoshi laughed, like Sakuma had said something incredibly stupid. “And disappoint my only fan? I already told you, didn’t I? I’m a sure thing.” He took Sakuma’s hand and it felt like a promise.

Sakuma nodded and turned back. The Demon Lord was looking at him with amusement. “Alright. I accept. I’ll be in your care from now on,” he said with a low bow.

Almost as one, they all snapped, “ ** _Don’t bow in a business suit!_** _”_

 


	2. Interlude in a Love Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miyoshi and Sakuma return to the love hotel after Miyoshi's meeting with Oikawa.

“Looks like they cleared out.” Sakuma observed, upon hitting the light-switch. The room was immaculate, scrubbed of every trace that D-Agency had ever been there. If he didn’t know better, he might have said it was a different room entirely.

“Hmm,” Miyoshi said and closed the door, rolling his eyes as Sakuma began sweeping for listening devices.

“Just because we’re working together doesn’t mean I’ve dropped my guard,” Sakuma said defensively as he inspected outlets, light switches, lamps, and vases—anywhere a bug could be hidden.

“I don’t think you have to worry—they like you. And Hatano, at least, clearly _adores_ you.”

Sakuma gave Miyoshi a blank look, decided he was being teased, and turned his attention back to the overhead light, puzzling how he was going to get up to check that fixture. Anything to distract him from his heart pounding away in his chest.

“Sakuma-san.” He could almost feel Miyoshi behind him, close by the sound of his voice, low-pitched and steady.

“Just a second, I—”

“If you want an out, you don’t have to make excuses. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

Sakuma whirled around, opening his mouth to object, but Miyoshi shoved him square in the center of his chest. There wasn’t much space between him and the bed, so he had no choice but to sit, hard, and look up at Miyoshi. Though that didn’t last for long.

Miyoshi sank to his knees between Sakuma’s thighs, gaze never wavering. It was hot. Intent. And hungry. Sakuma swallowed with difficulty.

“Just kidding.” Miyoshi said, lips quirked mischievously. “I really don’t know if I could handle it.”

Sakuma reached out hesitatingly and cupped his face, his own mouth curving up at the edges. He was nervous and there wasn’t any use trying to hide it, not from Miyoshi. This was _it_. There was no going back, not for him. And if Miyoshi decided he didn’t want him after all…or if this was just some fling for him, or a curiosity… It wouldn’t just devastate Sakuma. It would undo him.

Miyoshi leaned forward and nuzzled his abdomen. “You’re thinking too much. Haven’t I already told you? I’m a sure thing.”

“You’re a calamity,” Sakuma said with a soft huff of laughter. Miyoshi grinned up at him and, apparently taking that for capitulation, unzipped Sakuma’s fly with his _teeth_.

His cock went from semi-erect to fully hard so fast it nearly _hurt_. “Fucking hell,” he said faintly, as Miyoshi gently disengaged him from his pants and studied him. Then, meeting Sakuma’s eyes so he knew it was deliberate, the _utter hedonist_ , Miyoshi licked his lips, just brushing the head of his dick with that wicked pink tongue.

Sakuma gave a full body twitch, fingers clenched in the bedding.

“You can touch,” Miyoshi said, each puff of air agonizing on his sensitive skin. “I know you have a thing for my hair.”

Sakuma didn’t argue, even though he kind of wanted to. He wasn’t wrong, was the thing. Sakuma’s hands shook as they slid fully into the soft strands, and he sighed with satisfaction. It felt nice. Soft and silky. Except no sooner had his hands settled than Miyoshi took him into his mouth, into _slick hot wet_ , with just the barest impression of teeth, and Sakuma’s whole body tensed reflexively, letting out a grunt of effort in his desperation to not come immediately.

“You’re a bastard,” he choked out, and tugged a little harder in retaliation. Miyoshi’s shoulders shook, but he didn’t pull away, just continued eagerly sucking and licking.

It was mesmerizing, in a way. If Sakuma had ever allowed himself to picture it in depth, he might have thought Miyoshi would be as calculating and fastidious about sex as he was about everything else. Good at it, of course, as he was good at everything, but maintaining his facade of glamour and perfection always. Lovely but untouchable, even here.

It wasn’t like that at all.

Miyoshi was a _mess_. With his hair mussed from Sakuma’s hands, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes glazed, he was an unexpected vision of passion and Sakuma couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop staring where his cock parted those red, saliva and cum slicked lips, his drool soaked chin. Lost in the moment, he forgot to restrain himself and his hips jerked forward a bit. Miyoshi’s eyes went wide and Sakuma winced, petting his hair in apology, but then—Miyoshi’s throat slackened and he slotted in all the way.

It was too much. The fluttering of Miyoshi’s throat around the sensitive head, the accidental scrape of teeth near the base. He felt the orgasm building at the base of his spine and tried to pull away in a panic. “I’m going to—” Miyoshi scrabbled at his back in resistance, pulling back only a little so he could meet Sakuma’s eyes, his own blazing with defiance, and sealed his lips around the shaft. Sakuma closed his eyes and came, feeling like it had been punched out of him.

Miyoshi let him go very gently, tiny licks cleaning up what was left of the mess. Sakuma cracked one eye open and looked down at him balefully. “I think you broke me.”

Miyoshi wiped a stray speck of white from his lips with his thumb and smirked as he licked it clean. Sakuma’s dick tried very valiantly to perk up again, but he wasn’t a teenager anymore for heaven’s sake. “I hope not, my dear Sakuma-san. That was just to take the edge off. I have _plans_ for you and this unfortunately decorated bed,” he said as he rose sinuously to straddle Sakuma’s lap, pressing flush against him so that Sakuma could feel his erection digging into his abdomen.

Sakuma pulled him down by his neck, Miyoshi’s mouth opening to him so he could taste the two of them together on his tongue. He deepened the kiss, wanting to know every texture, the shape of every tooth, every tiny crevice; wanting everything. And Miyoshi gave zealously, recklessly, anything Sakuma wanted, moving his head wherever Sakuma guided it without resistance. And when he felt Miyoshi was sufficiently distracted, he made his move, rolling them over and reversing their positions, pinning Miyoshi’s wrists to the bed and dropping his full lower body flush against him.

Miyoshi blinked up at him. Sakuma smirked.

“I don’t think so, Miyoshi,” Sakuma said, breathless and exhilarated. Miyoshi was _here_. It had finally really sunk in that this wasn’t a dream; he had what he’d been longing for. And he wasn’t going to waste a single moment from here on out. “It’s my turn.”

Miyoshi’s lips, still red and bruised-looking from their earlier activities, curved up in a smile full of challenge and anticipation. “Do your worst.”

“Sorry,” Sakuma said with a matching smile. Whatever awkwardness he’d felt beforehand had vanished and all that was left was a bone-deep _want_ that his earlier orgasm, powerful as it had been, had barely touched. “You’ll have to settle for my best, I’m afraid. Keep your hands where they are,” he ordered and sat up. Miyoshi complied, though he looked curious.

“How do you feel about this shirt,” Sakuma asked casually.

“If you rip my clothes you’ll regret it,” Miyoshi said equally casually, but with an undertone of steel.

“I thought you’d say that,” Sakuma said ruefully, and began dutifully unbuttoning the shirt. He leaned down and followed the path opening up down Miyoshi’s sternum with his mouth, kissing and sucking, enjoying the pinkening spots on pale skin.

“I have this fantasy though,” he didn’t know what made him say it, except that he was feeling audacious, drunk on lust and relief, “of bending you over and fucking you in one of your expensive suits. Messing up that perfect composure of yours.”

Miyoshi inhaled sharply and Sakuma could see his hands fisting the bedclothes above his head, as his eyes dilated. “Name a time and a place,” he said.

“What about your clothes?” Sakuma asked innocently, smiling into Miyoshi’s belly. He dipped his tongue into the newly revealed navel and reveled in the little jerk that elicited.

“I’ll wear a suit from last season,” he snapped and writhed a little in frustration, pants tented obscenely. “Can you _please_ get on with it? I don’t remember torturing _you_.”

Sakuma chuckled. “I like to take my time,” he said, but scooted back so he was straddling Miyoshi’s shins. He reached for Miyoshi’s belt, because despite his words and the fact that he’d already come once, he was very nearly _desperate_ , to have Miyoshi naked, to finally see and taste and touch what he’d only ever imagined. Every new centimeter of skin only made him hungry for the rest.

He didn’t wait—couldn’t wait—once he had Miyoshi’s pants open, could pull his underwear out and away and down and bare his cock to the cool air. It was gorgeous, just like Miyoshi, long and slim and uncut, red and wet from checked arousal and it made Sakuma’s mouth water.

Other than the surprise of it, Miyoshi had been slow with Sakuma, had given him time to ease into it, to adjust. Sakuma could not return the kindness; couldn’t even give Miyoshi a warning before he swallowed him whole, all the way to the back of his throat in one blissful go.

Miyoshi’s thighs clamped vicelike around his head as he seemed to choke on his own tongue, strangled expletives and perfectly manicured fingernails clenched viciously in Sakuma’s hair. Miyoshi couldn’t seem to decide if he wanted pull away or thrust forward, body jerking with indecision, but Sakuma’s arm barred across his hips kept him in place easily enough.

Miyoshi came gratifyingly quickly—it was at least proof that he’d been holding back too. That Sakuma was not the only one who’d been wanting. He pulled off, being careful not the graze the sensitive flesh with his teeth and rested his head on Miyoshi’s hip while they both caught their breath. After a moment, Miyoshi shifted and Sakuma lifted his head obligingly so Miyoshi could kick off his pants.

Sakuma had seen his share of priceless works of art over the course of his career. He had touched paintings and sculptures and statues that most people would never even get to see in person. But none of them, not The Starry Night, not the Sistine Chapel, not the Mona Lisa, could compare to the sight of Miyoshi sprawled against obscene red, wearing nothing but an open dress shirt and a satisfied smile.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted out, because he wanted to and because now he could.

Miyoshi blinked. “I know,” he replied. Sakuma snorted, but it was more fond than wry. How an unapologetic narcissist could manage to be so charming about it was a mystery. “Catch.”

Sakuma barely reacted in time to catch whatever Miyoshi tossed, fumbling the pink bottle before getting it right-side up and squinting at the stylized kanji. Strawberry flavored lube.

“It’s not my favorite brand, but needs must I suppose. And it’s new.”

Sakuma swallowed. How had his mouth gone dry yet seemed to be watering at the same time? “Who?” he croaked, and honestly considering either option made his brain want to short circuit.

Miyoshi licked his lips. “Not that the thought of being ridden by you isn’t compelling…” he trailed off, eyes glazing for a moment before refocusing, “but I’ve been wanting your cock inside me ever since I opened your pa—ah!”

Sakuma didn’t even wait for him to finish—he lunged, covering Miyoshi and taking his mouth while trying to fumble the lid of the lube at the same time. It oozed cold and slick and too fast over his fingers, puddling on Miyoshi’s stomach, the fake strawberry scent joining those of sweat and sex.

The first finger went in easily, the second less so, though Miyoshi merely grunted and hitched his leg over Sakuma’s hip, opening himself up to the invasion. Sakuma could feel his fingernails digging crescents into his biceps as his hips stuttered, not seeming to know whether they wanted to arch into or away from the contact.

His head fell to rest on Miyoshi’s shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his clavicle and the sensitive skin of his under arm. Hands slid into the short hair at his nape and fisted there, guiding his head up so their mouths could meet in a wet, desperate kiss. “I’m ready. Stop stalling,” Miyoshi demanded, annoyance and desire bleeding together in his voice and expression. Sakuma angled his fingers just so, and while he enjoyed Miyoshi’s breathy moan, it also added one more chip to his already crumbling self-restraint.

He withdrew and sat up, feeling a bit lost. Were there even condoms in this room? Where were they? Like magic, a small foil packet appeared in front of his nose, and Miyoshi was looking up at him with a smile that was equal parts fond and sly. It was already open, thank goodness, since Sakuma didn’t think he’d achieve anything except embarrassment and frustration with his own slick fingers.

A few seconds later he was holding his breath as he finally sank into Miyoshi, warm and tight and welcoming and he couldn’t have held back his own strangled moan if he’d wanted to. He tried to hold still, to give Miyoshi time to adjust, to give _himself_ time to adjust, but then Miyoshi did this _twist_ thing with his hips and pulled Sakuma in with his calves, and Sakuma jerked, burying himself inside in a single thrust while Miyoshi cried out in his ear and pulsed around him.

After that, he couldn’t have stopped if his life depended on it, Miyoshi’s gasps and his own, the sultry heat between them, and the sounds their bodies made as they came together harder, faster, _more_. He couldn’t keep his hands still, plucking at a pebbled nipple just to hear the catch in Miyoshi’s voice, running a finger lightly over the starburst shaped scar on his hip, sliding his fingers into the sweat damp hair at Miyoshi’s temples and kissing him, always kissing him whenever he had the breath for it.

Watching Miyoshi as his eyes went glassy and distant and he seized, shuddered and his fingers raked lines of fire down Sakuma’s back and his cock spurted between them, touched only by their bellies. And that was it. Sakuma whited out, the tension in him stretching taut, then snapping as his hips hitched with jerky little motions and Miyoshi went limp against him.

Their mouths were open against each other, not even kissing but just sharing air as they struggled to regain their breaths. Miyoshi was still shuddering and winced a bit when Sakuma pulled out so he could dispose of the condom. To Sakuma’s surprise, when he laid back down Miyoshi latched onto him immediately, snuggling into his side and trailing fingers lightly over Sakuma’s stomach. Skinship, huh? He hadn’t expected Miyoshi to be a cuddler. “I knew you’d be perfect,” Miyoshi said sleepily, words slightly slurred.

Sakuma toyed with Miyoshi’s hair, exhaustion settling over him like a blanket. He meant to say something to that, something witty or perhaps self-deprecating, but sleep stole him away first. He smiled as he went.

 


End file.
